Meltdown
by Concolor44
Summary: Anna & Kristoff are just trying to stay sane until the wedding, but Arendelle's beloved Queen has shadowy enemies ... and a dangerous ally who knows more about her than she could suspect. And why does Elsa have ice powers in the first place? So many secrets, so little time! (Violence, steamy KristAnna, Elsa/OC, adult situations). Recipient of Frozen I.C.E. Award 12/2014.
1. Prologue

**. . .**

**. . .**

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: When my wife and I saw "Frozen" in theater, I nudged her and allowed that we were going to have to get it when it comes out on DVD (Alert! That would be on Tuesday 18 March 2014! Don't miss it!). As some of you may know, it picked up a few Oscars the other night._

_I have been obsessed (__**obsessed**__, I tell you!) with the song "Let It Go" and have watched that video clip on Youtube probably 200 times. It is one of the few perfect pieces of music I am familiar with (Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings", Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody", Vivaldi's "Four Seasons", and Evanescence's "My Heart Is Broken" are also on the list) and I would love to wax rhapsodic as I go over each tiny facet of its awesomeness, but I'm not going to do that here._

_My Muse laid this story on me a few days ago, and I just completed the outline last night (it ran to almost 6000 words, but a lot of that is research and necessary timeline/backstory for the OC). I am very excited about this project, this being my first-ever "Frozen" fanfic, and I hope I can convey that excitement to you, Gentle Reader. Also, you should note that if you haven't seen the movie, this will be just __**loaded**__ with spoilers._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Disclaimer of Standardness: I have no personal, financial or remunerative stake whatsoever in the Disney Corporation or its subalterns, designees or assigns; the movie "Frozen"; any of the characters that appear in "Frozen" (more's the pity, considering Elsa ... dammit); any of the thousands of people involved in the production, direction or distribution of "Frozen"; or any other person who might be legally connected, however remotely, with any of the entities previously listed. I realize no pelf from this work. The original and incidental characters belong to me, as does the plot. But that's it, folks._

_Have fun! And remember that life is TOO SHORT to waste any of it drinking "Lite" beer._

. . .

. . .

**Prologue**

. . .

. . .

Thin branches of fir and beech snapped and stung at Anna's face as she ran, the agonized yells fading away behind her lending her reserves of speed she'd not suspected she possessed. She tried to use her bound hands to protect herself, but the short cord running from her wrists to her waist prevented that, and it took all the concentration in her terribly exhausted frame to keep from tumbling down the steep slope. Surely there was a path around here somewhere! She'd not been this far from Arendelle but a handful of times in her young life, but she'd heard enough stories to expect some kind of …

A rough curse behind her – much too _close_ behind her – brought her back to the here and now. They were fast. Too fast. Frantically she looked right and left, taking notice of a fallen tree just up the slope. She struggled through the brush, trying to avoid the yellow-flowered furze for fear of its prickles, and almost succeeding. She picked up a thorn in her right heel and had to bite her lip to keep from screaming at the pain. What was left of her shoes didn't offer much protection; her feet were bleeding already. Quickly making herself as small as she could, she hunkered down and waited while the half-dozen men crashed by her hiding place. Once their sounds tapered off to the west, she popped up and headed back the way she had come, limping slightly from the wound in her foot.

"There she is!"

_Crap_.

She crabbed along as fast as she could over the rough ground, through the dense undergrowth, fighting the steep grade, and praying hard for a miracle.

But it was not to be. The men gained steadily and finally one of them grabbed her by a braid, jerking her neck painfully. She was spun around to face the seething countenance of the gang's largest member. He drew back his other hand and struck her across the face hard enough to break the skin on her cheek. Her world filled with flashing lights and the hollow sound of rushing water as she slumped to her knees, her final shreds of strength utterly spent.

The man dropped her braid and grabbed her by the neck. His huge hands easily circled her slim throat, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. Yanking her up until their faces were a mere hand's breadth apart, he growled, "My brother! That was my brother, you little bitch! You broke his knee!"

The gang leader came up then and noticed Anna was beginning to turn blue. He punched the other man's arm. "Don't kill her. She's no good to us dead."

His grip relaxed and Anna drew a ragged breath and coughed, tears springing to her eyes. She had told herself she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't show any fear. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction. But it wasn't working out quite that way: she was terrified, and too tired to dissemble any longer.

"Yeah." He glared at the girl in hate. "Yeah, you're right." He grabbed her bound hands and nearly crushed them in his fist. She gave a gasp of pain and a low moan. "But y'know what? They'll want her back just as bad if she's minus a few fingers."

She looked up at him, crying freely now, and whimpered, "No. Please. Please don't do this."

He pulled a long knife from his boot, laid her hands over a nearby tree trunk, and raised the blade high …

. . .

. . .

_A/N: More to come soon._


	2. Delegation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 1: Delegation**

* * *

_Ah, well, one couldn't have everything, could one?  
Where, after all, would one put it?_

* * *

. . .

. . .

There were four facts about his life in Arendelle that combined to give Kristoff Bjorgman a headache on a fairly regular basis.

The first: He was a tall fellow, just shy of nineteen hands, which placed him well above average.

The second: He loved ale. This was certainly not unique, as hardly anyone who lived there _**didn't**_ love the local brews. It actually comprised a decent chunk of their export trade. Of course every householder brewed his own ale. They had to, since it wasn't safe to drink plain water. But the true brewmasters ran the taverns, and that was where the best ales (and _akvavit_, and mead on occasion) could be had.

The third: The people of Arendelle, by and large, were traditionalists. They took the view that if something wasn't broken, it didn't need fixing. They tended to view that attitude as economical and efficient as opposed to lazy.

The fourth: Most of the buildings housing the taverns were very old, which meant that they were built back when people were shorter, which meant that the doors seldom had more than eighteen hands of clearance. And since they had served for two or three hundred years, nobody was of a mind to fix them.

When he hit the lintel coming through the door this time, Kristoff actually knocked a fine fall of dust off the near rafters, and it pulled a mighty grunt from his rangy frame. Nevertheless, he rubbed the numbness out of his forehead, ducked a little lower, and came on in, whereupon he called out, "God save Queen Elsa!"

A dozen steins were lifted high, a dozen voices rang out in response, "God save her!"

Still rubbing his head, the Royal Ice Harvester stomped over to the bar. "Lief? I was about to order a stein of Best Blond."

"Yeah?" answered the bartender, "you change your mind then?"

"I did." He pointed at the red patch on his forehead. "Make it two steins."

He chuckled. "Comin' right up." The Red Crown was neither the best nor the oldest tavern in Arendelle, but Lief Falstad, the jovial, balding, comfortably fat man who ran it, loved it no less for that. He kept his fire warm, his ale fresh, and his customers happy. As with every other tavern-keeper in the city, he lived on the premises (in two fairly large upstairs rooms in his case) and did most of his own cooking. He was relatively well-known for a spicy stew that he kept hot in a cauldron by the smaller hearth near the bar, and for his love of bad jokes.

Also, like every other tavern-keeper in the city – like practically every other _**citizen**_, for that matter – he held Arendelle's monarch, Elsa the Snow Queen, in extremely high regard.

This was a state of affairs that Elsa had worked very, very hard to achieve. She had known, upon returning to assume her rightful throne after the unpleasantness associated with the revelation of her ice-powers, that she had an uphill battle in placating the fears and winning the hearts of her subjects, but she was determined to make it happen. Fortuitously, the date of her birth (and thus of her coronation) helped a lot, coming right at the beginning of July: she had the pleasant summer months to do her initial planning and enact her ideas.

She started by examining the policies relating the ruling family to the rest of the populace. Her father (and his father) had been just and fair in their administration of their kingly duties, concentrating on improving things in-country and staying completely **out** of the plethora of wars that engulfed the rest of Europe, so she knew what to do there. Sort of. (She had records, and lots of them.) Being mostly isolated all those years meant that she wasn't going to become a people-person overnight, but she genuinely cared for Arendelle and its subjects, and she genuinely wanted to do what was best for them. This made her something of an oddity among Europe's reigning monarchs in the early years of the Nineteenth Century, but she didn't know that. Nor would she have cared.

Basically, the only thing she could come up with on short notice was that there was a very large discrepancy between the wealth of the average citizen and the size of the royal treasury. That was understandable when she thought about it. After all, running a country was significantly more expensive than running a greengrocer or a tannery. But when she turned an eye toward the list of taxes, she hit pay-dirt. She decided quickly that the tax load was a bit too high, and called a meeting with the Council of Elders to see which ones could be reduced or eliminated.

To a man, they were pleased that she wanted their input. Her father, though a good person, had been quite the take-charge-and-do-it-my-way sort of king, and he rarely asked for the Council's opinion. Right off the bat, they recommended discontinuing all the various (usually stiff) taxes on alcohol.

As the Councilors had predicted, this brought a swift and measurable uptick in tavern custom, which soon spread to other areas of the local economy. She also reduced a few land-use taxes, took the fine off the hunting of wild game near the city, and eliminated the fee for fishing in the fjord, all of which made life somewhat easier for everybody. Suddenly, she was the most popular monarch in anyone's memory.

Then came the winter. Through Kristoff, the trolls had warned Elsa that this would be the worst winter anyone had seen in a century, and that all of Europe would suffer. She had managed to get a few particulars from them about what they thought the extremes of temperatures and storms and snowfall might be. Then she got busy and laid out a plan to protect her kingdom.

She knew that love was the remedy for the overfreeze she had laid on Arendelle when her powers erupted after the ball. She hoped it would work against natural weather as well.

When the first serious cold snap hit and the temperatures plummeted to forty and fifty below zero, she stationed herself on the highest tower in the city and … just absorbed it. In concentrating on her love for her subjects, she was able to moderate the gelid air up to an almost comfortable level, and keep it that way for most of a day. The effort exhausted her, but it also seemed to last a good bit past the point where she bent it to her will. They had mild weather for almost two weeks.

The trolls actually sent her a message two days before the monster storm hit, a month to the day after she recovered. It came snarling in off the Norwegian Sea, billions of tons of snow and hurricane-force winds that threatened to flatten the city with an almost palpable hatred. This time she didn't so much absorb it as re-direct it. She froze the fjord, then gathered the snow in a gigantic western wall across it, nearly as high and as thick as the surrounding mountains. This served as a shield against the wind, and protected Arendelle from the worst of the blows. What snow got over the top, she simply directed past the city, piling it on the already-burdened slopes until it reached truly dizzying heights.

She did this, neither stopping nor resting, for the three days the storm lasted. When she finally collapsed, utterly spent and near death, every family in the kingdom offered aid or food or medicine – in addition to fervent prayers on her behalf – and the lines of concerned subjects stretched around the palace four rows deep. It was three weeks before she could walk unaided.

Fortunately, the next two storms were nothing _like_ as severe as that first one, and she handled them easily.

So well did she care for her kingdom that there was a complete absence of deaths that might be attributed to the wicked winter weather. Normally the kingdom would lose a score or more each season. And every last inhabitant knew exactly who to thank. On the Sixth Feast Day of Epiphany, in mid-February, the local bishop held a special service in Elsa's honor, and delivered a homily extolling her virtues and thanking a merciful God for sending her to them. She carefully and gratefully guided the worst weather around Arendelle through until Spring, earning (and basking in) the devotion of her people. And she was content.

Eventually there was another topic that had nothing to do with governance but which took up a lot of her time anyway: the relationship her sister, Anna, had cultivated with the Royal Ice Harvester. For reasons Elsa could not quite grasp at first, the smelly, uncouth fellow had captivated the Princess's attention completely.

Anna was, to use a _ridiculously_ inadequate word, impulsive. Where Elsa was self-contained, reserved (if not somewhat shy), and basically serious about life and her place in it as Queen, Anna was an extrovert's extrovert, a cockeyed optimist who never met a stranger and who was just as likely as not to pull random passersby into a Maypole dance … or one of her spur-of-the-moment schemes. That quality had not served her well when that insufferable miscreant, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, had made his play for her. Elsa huffed in remembered frustration. _Sure, I'll marry you! Sure, I don't know anything __**at all**__ about you, but you're gorgeous and you say you love me, so it's all good! What could possibly go wrong?_ Anna had met him, and that same evening had agreed to _**marry**_ him? The very idea made Elsa's head hurt.

_Well, at least with Kristoff, we've known him for close to a year now. And he __has__ had something of a steadying influence on her. Now and then. Under the right circumstances. For brief periods of time. _She loved Anna dearly, but some days Elsa just wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled.

Anna had dropped hints to the fellow for months (a few of the hints having been nailed onto his head with a hammer) that Kristoff ought to ask her to marry him, and he'd finally come around five weeks ago. Elsa understood that his, ah, 'family' had a lot to do with his reticence. Not that they disagreed at all … no, they'd been all for it. Quite enthusiastic about the match. But the trolls were fairly impulsive in matters of the heart, and Kristoff wanted to be sure – dead sure – that marrying Anna was a _**good**_ idea, and not just _their_ idea, or _her_ idea. Inasmuch as he knew he'd have to make some fairly significant changes in lifestyle once he became the Prince Consort, he had talked it all over with Elsa in three rather lengthy meetings in the palace library.

In those meetings, she tore him into tiny, bite sized morsels, roasted each morsel until it was an even nut-brown, and scraped them all back together into a pile more or less resembling Kristoff. At the end of each session, he knew _**exactly**_ where he stood with Elsa. It didn't help him sleep, but it did settle his mind over what he ought to do. For Elsa's part, she came to understand that Kristoff loved her sister more than life, and that was why he was being so tentative. He wanted the best for her, and had been pretty damn sure that _**he**_ wasn't it. He figured she ought to hold out for (at the very least) some rich duke or earl or something. But Elsa stood on conviction more than convention, and she informed him that if they truly loved each other, it would be criminal to keep them apart.

However … looking at the fellow, she knew they would have their work cut out for them in making him presentable at court. Ah, well, one couldn't have everything, could one? Where, after all, would one put it?

But we digress.

Kristoff was working on his second stein when Olaf ambled in. The self-aware snowman was a great favorite of the townspeople (the children in particular), and loved to just wander the streets, meeting and greeting. Anna had gone to the trouble of writing up a ceremony whereby he was declared the Royal Ambassador to the People of Arendelle, and it had thrilled him to pieces. Literally.

Two men near the door noticed him and called him over. "Olaf, my boy!" said one, "how's the world's smartest snowman today?"

"I have been playing football with the orphans!"

That earned him a frown. "Football? What's that?"

"That is where the children kick a ball around with their feet."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. So are you any good at kicking?" Given Olaf's rather, ah, _basic_ structure, it was a fair question.

"Oh, I did not do the kicking." He pulled out his midsection and held it up in one stick-hand. "I was the ball!"

Everyone laughed at his joke. He replaced his pseudo-thorax and wobbled over to Kristoff. "Hello, Mister Royal Ice Harvester, Sir!"

"Hey, Olaf. What's new?"

"Oh! That is right! I wanted to ask: did Queen Elsa buy the big, new, shiny ships or do they belong to someone else?"

_blink-blink_ "New ships? What new ships?"

"There are new ships in the fjord. I just wondered …"

Kristoff leaped off the stool and out the door (missing the lintel this time) and ran over one street until he could he could see the open water. He got a chill that had nothing to do with the cool breeze ruffling his hair.

Five warships sat at anchor at the mouth of the fjord.

. . .

. . .

Elsa stood at a window in one of the towers, watching as a skiff from the flagship rowed steadily in toward the docks. Her keen eyes had picked out eight figures, six of them at the oars, and two opulently-attired horses, and she liked this not at all. While the flagship of the small war fleet flew the colors of the King of Norway and Sweden, the delegation – for that is what she assumed was coming – came in under the banner of the Church.

"What do you think they want?"

Elsa glanced over at her sister who stood there beside her, then snaked an arm around the girl's waist. "I'm sure they'll waste no time letting us know, once they reach land."

Her voice very small, Anna asked, "Do you think it's my fault?"

That startled the Queen. She cocked an eyebrow at Anna and asked, "Whatever in the world would give you that idea?"

"Because of Kristoff. I've … heard some things. Some of the townspeople say … well …"

"That you should marry within your station?"

"… Something like that."

"That's puffin poop."

Anna was so shocked to hear her stately, staid sister use such an expression that she actually took a step away. "What?!"

"Kristoff loves you to distraction. He places your well-being above his own. I would venture to state that you would not find such qualities in some self-important Continental dandy." Elsa placed a reassuring hand on Anna's shoulder. "And I know you love him as well."

"Oh, yes! Lord knows, yes!"

"Then I don't see the problem."

"Maybe. But you're a kinda special case." Nodding toward the fjord, she added, "I don't expect that kind of open-mindedness from anyone else."

"We are a sovereign state. It is none of their affair whom you choose to marry."

Anna hesitated for a second, then threw her arms around Elsa. "I'm so glad you're my sister!"

Returning the embrace, Elsa just nodded in agreement. After a moment, she said, "I had better go down to the receiving chamber. One must keep up royal appearances, after all." Patting her sister's back, and keeping her own fears secret, she added, "It will be fine. You'll see. It's probably only some official congratulations from King Charles."

"With five warships?"

Elsa shrugged. "Piracy has been on the rise. One can't be too careful these days." She turned, guiding Anna toward the door. "Let's go meet them. You'll see."

. . .

. . .

The octet formed up at the dock and began a steady march toward the palace, the banner-man leading the way, followed by two of the men on horseback, with the remaining five making up the rear-guard. All of them wore dark, heavy, ankle-length hooded robes emblazoned at breast and back with King Charles's seal. People lined the streets to watch, but no one spoke to the visitors, and they seemed entirely disinclined to speak to the people.

It wasn't very far to the palace. The guards ushered them into the reception hall where Elsa sat in a small throne, the Scepter and Orb of Arendelle on a deep blue velvet pillow to her right. Then they formed up in a rank to either hand.

The herald stepped forward. "Anfred Nordmark, First Baron of Rosendal, emissary of Charles III, King of Norway and Sweden!"

The herald stepped aside and the man on the right stepped forward. He lowered his cowl, pulled out an elaborately embellished scroll and began to unroll it.

Elsa spoke, "Baron Rosendal?"

He gave her his attention, but did not speak, a lack which irritated Elsa. "Has the King's Court forgotten the basic courtesy of a greeting?"

He fired off a supercilious stare for several seconds, finished opening the scroll, and read,

"_Be it known to the  
People of Arendelle that Charles III,  
King of Norway and Sweden  
sends his beneficence."_

He cleared his throat.

"_Hear now our pleasure:_

_Whereas we are the recognized  
Head of the Church of Norway, and_

_Whereas it is beholden upon us  
to promote and support  
True Religion in all our realms, and_

_Whereas it has come to our attention  
that late events have altered  
the line of succession in Arendelle, and_

_Whereas it is neither meet nor right  
for a sorceress to hold the throne  
in any land in Christendom,_

_Be it known to all and sundry that Elsa,  
self-styled Snow Queen of Arendelle,  
is pronounced anathema henceforth._

_She will immediately  
and upon pain of death  
surrender the throne of Arendelle  
to our appointed Regent  
until such time as we may journey thither  
to inspect the land and  
set to rights the true line of succession._

_Declared this Nineteenth Day of February  
in the Year of Our Lord MDCCCXLI_

The entirety of the present court of Arendelle was seething by this time.

Baron Rosendal stepped back and held an arm out to the other front man, who stepped forward and lowered his cowl, staring at Elsa with a sinister smirk.

She stood abruptly in shock. "**You!**"

"Yes. It is I. I told you I'd be back," sneered Prince Hans of the Southern Isles.

. . .

. . .


	3. Retribution

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 2: Retribution**

* * *

_Garland-draped effigies of Elsa graced most of the buildings._

* * *

. . .

. . .

No one moved, no one dared blink, for the space of three breaths. Then Elsa allowed a tiny smile to grace her features as she very deliberately sat back down on her throne. She gathered her ermine robe about her, studying Hans calmly until his smirk faltered a bit. "Tell me," she said in a conversational tone, "Does your false ambition know no limits? Your perfidy no bounds?"

The corners of his mouth turned down in time with his frown. "I am … there is … ambition has nothing to do with it!"

"Oh, indeed."

He took a small step forward. "You have been deposed, Elsa. You will now surrender your throne to me."

"Really. So then, has King Charles declared war on Arendelle?"

"What? No, of course not." A little of his bravado returned. "Don't be absurd."

"I had rather thought not." Her smile increased momentarily before settling into a look of satisfaction. "Arendelle, as you may not realize, O Prince, has a non-aggression treaty with Norway. It dates back to the middle of last century, and is renewed faithfully every five years. It was, in fact, renewed last autumn, and carries my seal."

"What does that have to do with …"

"Also, while the King certainly _**is**_ the titular head of the official Church of Norway, Arendelle is not Norway. And Arendelle does not have a state religion. We collect no tithe. In fact, even though a majority of the populace – and that includes the royal family – does adhere to the Lutheran faith, and does, it is true, look to the Church of Norway for spiritual guidance, freedom of conscience is a cherished and closely-held right here. The concept was written into the laws of the land in my great-grandfather's time. There is a synagogue just to the north for the small Jewish population that ended up here after escaping persecution in Russia. One of the most popular taverns in the city is operated by a trio of Trappist monks. And no one is required to attend Church. Many do not."

Hans blinked at her, not liking where the conversation was going. "That still does not …"

"King Charles," she went on, as if he had not spoken, "is certainly welcome to his opinion. But Arendelle is a sovereign state, and bears no liege-oath to any other ruler. If Arendelle happens to follow his lead in a given issue, we do so for our convenience and pleasure … not his. So his opinion remains just that, and carries no weight of law or rule." She drew herself up proudly, solemnly. "Arendelle, as it so happens, has a Queen.

"The kingdom is doing quite well, and we thank the King of Norway and Sweden for his concern … however …" She fairly pierced Hans with her gaze. "I would state for the record that, in the first point, I am no sorceress of any kind, but a loyal daughter of the Church. I was _born_ with the God-given abilities I possess, and I use them in the service of my lands. In the second point, I love my people. I care for them in a way that no mere upstart outsider could possibly comprehend, and I will continue to do so as long as a merciful God allows me to draw breath. In the third point, I have _no_ _**intention **__**whatsoever**_ of handing over my throne, and the reins of power it signifies, to anyone else, period. And in the last point …" Here, she gripped the arms of her throne and rose smoothly to her full height. "Lastly, it will be a colder day in Hell than any day Arendelle has ever seen before a pusillanimous, lying, conniving, back-stabbing gremlin such as yourself gets his sniveling hooks into this blessed land."

He stood there, trembling in shock and fury, grinding his teeth in frustration. This was not going at all the way he had envisioned. Ergo, his backup plan. "Very well. The King instructed you to follow his orders upon pain of death. That's your choice, Elsa!" He jumped to the side, and the five men behind him all drew pistols and aimed at the Queen.

She would (much later) determine that she should have anticipated such a move on his part. It would be just like him. And he wouldn't have come into her palace to make such a proclamation without any means to back it up other than the threat of the King's displeasure. It made perfect sense in retrospect. However, in the heat of the moment, staring down five cavernous gun barrels, she froze.

Her guards, on the other hand, were trained for just such an occasion, and stormed in front of the Queen to protect her. The two on the outside threw their spears just as the five pistols spoke. The multiple reports were deafening in the enclosed space, and it jerked Elsa out of her paralysis.

Two of the assassins were down, but so were two of her guards. The scowl that came to rest on her normally lovely features should have terrified the assailants. Perhaps they were too preoccupied with trying to kill her to notice. But they weren't given the chance to launch another volley, as thick ice instantly encased the entire delegation.

Elsa rushed to the fallen men. Both were conscious, but bleeding badly. She prodded one of the servants and directed, "Get the chirurgeon here as fast as ever you can!" Whipping back around to the men in a rising panic of concern, she said, "Eckert, Bjarni, hold on! Please, please don't die! Please don't …"

. . .

. . .

Like a spark through oil-soaked tinder, the news of the attempted assassination spread across the city. Small mobs sprang up in several places. A few vigilante groups approached some of the Aldermen to insist, vehemently, that the invaders be attacked forthwith. And there was no shortage of volunteers.

For their part, the Aldermen quickly got up a petition for war and sent it to the palace. The sanctity of the ruling house, the safety of their beloved Queen, and the very sovereignty of Arendelle itself were at stake, they proclaimed.

The individual at the focal point of all this fuss, however, was working hard to maintain calm … hers, and that of those around her. After doing all she could for her two wounded guards, Elsa called a meeting with the Council to discuss appropriate responses to the affront. At the close of an hour and a half of debate, they decided to send a small party out to the flagship. An official document was penned, outlining the crimes which had been committed against the Throne of Arendelle, offering a pardon to the sailors on the ships, and asking for a confirmation that there would be no more hostilities. Three men were chosen to deliver the message.

By that time, night had fallen, and Elsa decided that this next step could wait until morning. Besides, it had been hours and hours since her last meal, and she wanted nothing more than a nice, hot filet of cod with that wonderful lemony sauce the cook had invented, followed by a nice, hot bath with some lavender soap.

Later, while Gerda fussed over the Queen's bath preparations, Elsa detoured over toward Anna's room. She hadn't seen her sister since before all the unpleasantness began, and she felt the lack of the strawberry blonde's ready effervescence. She could really use a little pick-me-up, and a few minutes with Anna sounded like just the thing, especially since she could assure the girl with no trace of doubt that her relationship with Kristoff had absolutely nothing to do with the delegation's visit.

It had become their practice to knock twice and just come in. Neither sister was all that prudish around the other. If Anna walked in on Elsa getting dressed, it made not even a bump in the highway of her chatter. Similarly, Elsa had no qualms about sitting in the room and grinning to herself while Anna flung clothes in nine directions trying to decide which gown/dress/jumper/riding outfit would best impress Kristoff. As if, Elsa would think to herself, Kristoff needed any impressing. He was positively ridiculous in Anna's presence, smitten beyond description, and even prone to small accidents. It was really quite silly. She, herself, was very sure she would never behave in such a fashion. Of course she knew, as did most women, that men were the weaker sex.

But, as she approached her sister's rooms, she heard a sort of keening wail. Her eyes flew wide in alarm; she picked up her skirts and ran the final stretch down the hall, calling up her ice powers in readiness. If there were someone trying to do harm to her baby sister …

Anna's cry grew louder, stuttering and gasping in pain! But Elsa was almost there. "Anna! Anna, what's wrong?! Who's there?!"

Elsa yanked the door open and sprang inside, arms raised to rain icy death on …

A good hundred candles lit the scene: Kristoff. On his back. Naked. With Anna poised over him, spitted like a duck for roasting. Naked. With Kristoff's hands clenched hard into her thighs.

A quick series of squeaks and moans in time with her thrusts preceded Anna's final drawn-out cry and subsequent satiated collapse onto her lover. Neither of them noticed Elsa, being rather preoccupied with more pertinent activities.

The Queen stood in the doorway, bemused, for a moment more, then walked quietly over to the bed. Her sister and her consort were breathing deeply and rapidly, eyes closed, contented smiles gracing their faces.

"One wonders," stated Elsa, "how long this has been going on."

Anna gave a little shriek and clawed for the quilts.

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "A bit late for modesty, don't you think?"

Kristoff blushed so hard Elsa wouldn't have been surprised if his face began giving off smoke. Anna, finally securing the haphazard wad of covers, pulled them up to just under her eyes and peered at her sister like a trapped doe.

A delicate foot tapped the hardwood a few times. "Well? How long?"

Anna cleared her throat, coughed, cleared it again, swallowed twice, and stuttered, "Th-th-this is th-the … um … the third time."

"I see." She regarded the pair with mild exasperation. "I see," she repeated. "So you believed it a good idea, given that Arendelle might be on the brink of war, to sneak off to your room and make the beast with two backs, did you?"

They spluttered and stumbled over unintelligible (and likely fabricated) explanations for half a minute before Elsa held up her hand. "As I am sure you are well aware, one fairly common outcome of this … _performance_ is that you will find yourself with child."

Anna hid her eyes, getting even redder than she'd already been.

"You never gave that the slightest thought, did you?" Switching her gaze to Kristoff, she added, "And after our talks, too. I believe I had made my position on this, ah, state of affairs quite clear."

"Um … yes. You did. Quite. Sorry. Very clear. Yes. Sorry." He swallowed hard and squeaked, "Don't kill me?"

"So what inspired …" She waved a hand in their direction. "… this?"

Anna dropped the cover and knelt, pleading, "Please don't be mad at Kris! It was all my idea! I set up the candles and put clean sheets on and had dinner waiting and he didn't know it was for …"

"Stop." That hand again. "As it takes _**two**_ to make this dance work, culpability is shared. That you, sister, seduced him in this instance does not excuse him. Though I must say," she stated, stroking her chin while contemplating Anna's smooth, svelte, unclothed form, "Thinking about it dispassionately, I would be truly impressed if he had been able to resist _**that**_."

Anna squirmed back under the quilt, shame radiating off her in waves.

"So. You are newly nineteen years old and an adult, at least theoretically. If you understand the consequences and are prepared to suffer them …" the Queen turned and glided to the door, waving a careless hand in their direction. "I've nothing more to say on the topic. Carry on. I'm going to have a bath and then retire." She paused at the door. "One might suggest you consider doing likewise." A very tiny frown wrinkled her nose. "And have those sheets washed."

. . .

. . .

The Queen's representatives set off at daybreak, rowing out to the great warship under a flag of truce. Almost the entire city lined the walls and the docks, watching their progress.

Elsa and Anna sat together in one of the tower rooms so they could have a good view of the proceedings. Elsa's father had been fond of ornate spy-glasses and had a nice little collection of them. She currently held one that brought the scene much, much closer. Anna had one nearly as good.

Neither sister had brought up the embarrassment of the previous night, for which Anna was intensely grateful. She figured Elsa would revisit the subject after the current crisis was past, and was planning to be on her very best behavior until that time. If she could restrain herself. Kristoff had proved to be … quite talented. And blessed with a marvelous stamina. Just thinking of it made the blood rush to her nether regions, so she resolved not to think about it. Much.

To distract herself, she asked, "Who are those three again?"

"Jakob Aadland and Geirulf Solversen, two of the Aldermen, and the First Lieutenant of the Watch. I believe his name is Rolf Heim."

"And who's rowing?"

"Their names are Derek and Falke. They're in the Watch, too. It seems there was a lottery held to choose who had the honor."

"Oh. My goodness."

Finally the skiff made it to the huge ship. A ladder was lowered and the three clambered up. They spoke briefly with someone in an ornate hat and then went into the superstructure on the foredeck. The few sailors that could be seen just lounged around on deck and in the rigging. There were two near the wheel, leaning on it and talking to each other. Peering closely, she fancied she could make out details of the uniforms …

Wait.

In rising alarm, she fiddled with the focus, bringing the view in a bit more clearly. After a minute, she was sure. She rose and hurried toward the door.

Anna stood and followed. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Those are not Norwegians."

"… Huh?"

"If we're lucky, they're mercenaries. If not …"

Anna had to run to keep up with her. "What if they're not?"

"Then they're pirates."

In just over three minutes Elsa had called what Councilors were available and shared her fears. One of the old men grew very pale and sat down. Elsa stepped over to him and asked, "What is it, Geert?"

"Falke! My son is one of the rowers!"

A guard burst into the conference room. "My Queen! The ships are moving!"

They all hurried out to one of the westward rooms and peered toward the end of the fjord. The sun shone full on the five ships as they slowly maneuvered around to form a line.

"They're going to fire on us!"

Elsa's brow darkened menacingly. She said nothing, but ran to the nearest stairs and began to climb. She was puffing hard when she reached the high landing and stepped out to the balcony. Frost suddenly covered all the near surfaces. A cold fog ran along her body, spread across the floor and spilled down the side of the castle. She raised her arms and concentrated as a series of flashes along the side of the flagship signaled the first volley.

"**NNNNNGYYYAHHHH!**" She flung her power toward the water. Huge gouts of ice leaped upward, climbing and climbing and finally intercepting the speeding cannonade. Only two of the shells made it through, and they splashed into the water just in front of the dock.

The assault's deafening thunder was muted somewhat by the wall of ice, but it still brought distant screams from the people milling about below. The barrier was just low enough so that Elsa could still see over it. The other four ships copied the flagship, sending dozens of flaming balls toward the city, but the Snow Queen stopped them all. They fired two more quick rounds before deciding that tactic wasn't going to work. Two of the schooners began ponderously turning to leave.

"Oh, no you don't." Elsa created a long slide extending from the side of the tower where she stood, out, out, out to connect with the top of the great frozen escarpment, and out, out, out to meet the water about halfway to where the ships sat. Then, forming some skates of ice, she jumped onto the slide and zipped down to the fjord.

All five ships were well into turning about, obviously wanting nothing more to do with the Ice Witch of Arendelle since they had so drastically underestimated her power. But now Elsa, standing in contact with the fjord, exercised her will on the water beyond the small fleet. It froze solid at the mouth of the fjord, and then began slowly to tip upward and backward toward the city. She could see screaming sailors as they tried to find purchase on the decks that were steadily becoming perpendicular. In very little time, all five ships were standing on their sterns, locked in ice. She saw the skiff and used another bit of power to boost it up on a thin ice block and scoot it over near her. The two men were shaken, but ever so glad to be away from the flagship. As it happened, half a dozen of the sailors had trained long guns on them just as Elsa's powers struck. They would have been dead in another few seconds, had she not intervened.

"What of the three who went aboard?"

"We don't know, my Queen," answered Falke. "We heard nothing."

"Did you bring your swords?"

Derek shook his head. "No, your Majesty, we were under a flag of truce."

She nodded, then fashioned two ice swords for them, concentrating and hardening the weapons until they would shatter steel. "Let's go find them."

It did not take long. Terrified, freezing, and completely demoralized, the sailors offered no resistance whatsoever, quickly directing her to the cabin where the three had been stowed. She blasted the locked door to splinters, brought the three into the bright morning sun, and got them reasonably thawed out before they all headed back to Arendelle.

. . .

. . .

The victory celebration involved the entire city and lasted the rest of the day. Garland-draped effigies of Elsa graced most of the buildings.

Almost the entirety of Arendelle's small military force trekked out to the bound ships to take their complement of sailors into custody, which took several hours. The gaol and the dungeon were nothing _**like**_ big enough to hold them all, so Elsa created a floating ice prison where all 720 of them could cool their heels until she decided what to do with them.

The captives were docile to the point of groveling, having been thoroughly cowed by Elsa's show of force. The day after their capture, one at a time, they were taken to a nearby guardhouse and interrogated. They all got to watch, eyes round, shivering in fear, as Elsa rode a small iceberg out into the fjord, lowered the ships back into the water, and banished the ice. That same day a contingent of arms experts and accountants spent many hours going through the ships and cataloguing what they found. Elsa, meanwhile, spent a great deal of time with her Council.

Every man of them felt that Hans, the Baron, and the assassins should be executed for piracy About half of them felt the same way about the mercenaries (for that is what they were). Two of the schooners were of English make, one was an American privateer, and one was of German origin. The flagship was a French "74", and of fairly recent manufacture. The four leaders of the mercenaries maintained staunchly that the Prince had _**supplied**_ them with the flags and banners they flew, and had promised them the opportunity to loot the city when they took control. They hadn't really expected any kind of fight, and when the Queen's representatives informed them that Hans's delegation had been arrested and was currently enjoying the benefits of the royal dungeon, they'd panicked. Fearing mutiny if they told their men the mission was a bust, they'd opted instead to try to take the city on their own, and their shock and dismay at being put down hard by Elsa's power was just … enervating. They had no will left to fight. None of them knew any details about the supposed edict from King Charles, as none of the ships had ever been to Oslo.

This helped greatly to settle Elsa's mind on that score, at least. She truly did not want to have any sort of conflict with the much larger, much richer, much better armed nation that surrounded Arendelle on three sides. Even if she _**could**_ prevent a military incursion – and she felt confident that it wouldn't be a problem – the threat of embargo was very real, and cutting off all trade would hurt her people badly.

The morning of the third day, they had the Baron brought up for interrogation. After spending some time in the dark and damp, he was no longer the condescending peer. In fact, after just a few minutes of grilling, and having Elsa show him just how creative she could get with the forms her ice materializations could take, he confessed to not being a Baron at all. He was an actor, hired by Hans to play the part. The King's proclamation was a forgery, he _didn't_ know where Hans had procured a copy of the King's seal, he was _extremely_ sorry that he had gotten mixed up in this whole mess, he'd had _no idea_ that they were going to try to kill Elsa, he'd never even _seen_ the assassins until two days before they landed … and he wanted to know if they thought he'd done a creditable job pretending to be a member of the peerage.

Elsa had slapped him for that one.

She dismissed the Council and told them to go enjoy themselves. Take some time and spend it with their families. She declared a special day of rest, and announced that everyone who stopped into a tavern that day could have one free drink on her. She and Anna and Kristoff went on a short picnic excursion to the pleasant meadows east of the city, and had a delightful cold lunch. It was a happy day.

Happy, that is, for Arendelle. Not so much for Hans, where he languished in the lowest dungeon, strapped into the pillory.

Later that night, well after dark, later than she would normally be up and about, Elsa paced in her library. Finally coming to a decision, she trooped down to the dungeon, informed the guards that she wished to speak to Prince Hans alone, and was soon standing in front of his cell.

He was a sorry sight, stuck there with his head and arms locked in the rough wood. His court finery was a ragged, stinking ruin, since he was not allowed to move from that spot for any reason. Twice a day, the guards would give him a dipper of water and two small loaves of bread. But his own filth coated the insides of his breeches, and oozed through the expensive fabric to cake in evil stains on the surface.

She simply stood, regarding him for a few minutes before he raised his head and noticed her. Then he growled low in his throat. That led to a short coughing fit, but after a minute or so he turned his manic, bloodshot eyes her way. "Gloat while you can. My family has power. Not ridiculous ice power like yours. Real power. The power of life and death. You'll pay. Oh, how you'll pay for this insult. Blood and pain and …."

Standing quiet and unmoved while he rambled, she waited until he ran out of steam, and then offered, "I read up on the Kingdom of the Southern Isles after your first visit. The King and Queen are moral and upright people, and are known for being sticklers for following the rules. Your family, I feel quite sure, has no idea what you have been doing. They would have stopped you otherwise."

His glare, if anything, became more feral. But he didn't dispute what she said.

"I can't imagine that it was very cheap to hire those mercenaries. And I also can't imagine that your father would have allowed such a substantial withdrawal from the royal treasury. The Southern Isles are, at most, twice as large and prosperous as Arendelle, and such a sum would be missed." She rocked back and forth, heel to toe a few times. "Has it been missed already?"

He stared at her in hate for a quarter minute before dropping his eyes with a muttered, "Bitch."

"I suspected as much. So, while your family may, indeed, be looking for you, I seriously doubt it is for the purpose of a rescue."

He deflated as the tension slowly drained out of him. He had known all that. But knowing something is a very different thing versus internalizing and acknowledging it, and the consequences of his actions suddenly comprised a very bitter pill.

"So now we come to the crux of the matter. You have twice attempted to take my life. That constitutes piracy in the latest instance, for which in Arendelle the penalty is death; both cases could be considered an act of war. Actually, I could have had you executed that first time. But I was very new to the throne and under a lot of other stresses at the time. We have since _**more**_ than replaced the custom we lost in cutting economic ties with Weselton. We have been through one of the most brutal winters in anyone's memory. And we have prospered despite everything that has occurred. At any rate, I am no longer that girl. I am Queen of a blessed and happy land, and I intend to see to it that Arendelle _**stays **_blessed and happy."

"Go to hell."

She gave him an abbreviated smirk. "As the saying goes, 'you first'. And I can certainly arrange that if it is your wish."

He turned his burning gaze her way again.

"I have decided to leave that decision in your hands. The assassins you hired will be executed tomorrow. Arendelle has no vested interest in keeping them alive. But you? You will spend the rest of your life in this dungeon. Never doubt that. However … how long that life turns out to be is up to you. You may request execution at any time. How was it you put it to me just a few days ago? Ah, yes: that is your choice."

A tortured howl accompanied his frenzied thrashing against the pillory. She observed his fit for a moment before turning and mounting the stairs.

. . .

. . .


	4. Interpretation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 3: Interpretation**

* * *

_"Do you have any idea how many shades of **white** there are? It's insane!"_

* * *

. . .

. . .

Over the next week, nearly a hundred men spent every day-lit hour (and quite a few by lantern) going through the two schooners that showed the most damage from being tipped up vertical. They were completely stripped of any armaments, inspected, caulked, re-tooled where necessary, and docked near the floating ice prison. Elsa directed that all the foodstuffs from the five ships be loaded onto those two, and all their casks cleaned and filled. Then she sent for the four 'captains'. The German was the only one who knew how to speak (poorly) Norwegian, but all of them could get by passably in French, and Elsa was fluent.

She paced slowly back and forth in front of them as they knelt, shackled, on the flagstones. Finally she stopped, held each one's gaze in turn for a few seconds, and then said, "You did not declare war. For that matter, none of you has _standing_ to declare war. So your attack on the city can only have one possible legal meaning, and that is piracy."

The men popped a sheen of sweat.

Keeping her expression as deadpan as she could manage, she continued, "As I am sure you are aware, the penalty for piracy in any country in Europe is death by hanging. Time, place and circumstances matter not."

They held their peace, figuring nothing they could say would help, and would probably only make things worse. She hadn't killed them yet, and they were sure beyond argument that she could have at any time. All by herself, if she chose.

"However, I find that there are mitigating circumstances in your case. Prince Hans hired you under false pretenses. You thought his ascension to the throne of Arendelle was _fait accompli_, and you were there to see that it went off without a hitch." Allowing a small frown to come to rest above her eyes, she paused for effect. "It is for this reason, and one other, that your remains are not now being used to chum the water for the fishing fleet."

They were as still and as quiet as tombstones.

"The other reason is that no one was hurt. If I had not been able to completely stop your fusillade … if you had so much as _**bruised**_ one of my subjects …" Her countenance became, at that point a great deal more menacing. There is just something about a truly beautiful woman who is murderously angry that clamps a vice on one's attention and squeezes. She gave her head a minuscule shake. "Never mind hanging: I would have flayed every last one of you and buried you in salt." She took two steps forward and leaned toward them. A sudden field of jagged spikes of ice sprang from the floor, their tips pressing lightly here and there. A few tiny drops of blood welled up, a few tiny prickles of pain that promised so very much more. "And if any of you ever … _**EVER**_ … gets close to Arendelle again, I will make your deaths a byword to every sea-faring people who hears the story."

One of them whispered, "Thank you, your Majesty." The other three murmured agreement.

She moved off a bit. The spines of ice whiffed into tiny crystals and vanished. "This, then, is my decree. Two of your schooners have been stripped of weapons. You and your men will be placed aboard with all the provisions you brought with you. You will sail away, and you will neither slow nor look back."

The men glanced at each other, pale with fear. They knew quite well what would happen to them under those conditions if they ran across a naval vessel … or worse, pirates. She was leaving them their lives, but only temporarily. Their chances wouldn't be very good. Maybe they could sail north, hug the coast, eventually spin west and make it to Iceland? They could come up with a convincing story about being attacked by a privateer …

Elsa nodded to the guards, who lifted the men to their feet and marched them out. Her instructions were carried out within the hour.

And once the ships had rounded the point and were lost to sight, the Snow Queen hoped that would be the end of it.

. . .

. . .

_Seven Weeks Later, in Rome, in the dead of night_

Like a craggy spire of granite in a turbulent sea, The Vatican stood firm above the political turmoil of the Italian states.

That, at least, is what Leonardo told himself. But then, he told himself a lot of things. That he could be immortal, for example. Oh, it wasn't as if he could ignore the passage of time. That wasn't the issue. With age came the inevitable baldness and failing eyesight, the lack of strength and stamina, the weight gain and the gout and the constant limp. None of that could be denied. But he still fancied that he could leave a timeless legacy in the years he had left in this Mortal Coil.

It was not easy being the personal secretary to a great power, and he had come to terms with the fact that his physical conditions just made it that much more difficult. No, where he and reality parted ways was related to his more private endeavors, his hubris, his personal ambition. He had his eye on a promotion, and had been of that mindset for many years. If the old fart would just _**die**_, already!

He'd considered poison, but he was no apothecary, and there would be too many loose ends. A straight-up assassination, carried out by a hired professional, would fill the bill … except that such an act would stir up the College to the point where the infighting and maneuvering might drag out for years before a successor was chosen. No, if he were serious about becoming Pope …

His eye fell across a letter that had been delivered earlier that day.

If he wanted to be Pope … he would have to accomplish something truly great. And he would have to do it in such a way as to garner all the credit for himself.

Of course he had assistants. Secretaries of his own, among other, less savory aides. They were necessary, considering the many strands he had cast in his subtle web of power and greed and deceit.

At first the letter had gotten him **most** exercised. Failure was failure, after all, even if no one knew he had been involved. But the more he thought about it, the more he contemplated the remaining options, the more his twisted intellect worked over the conundrum … the more he felt that he could turn this setback to his advantage.

He picked up the missive in his knobby, arthritic fingers and read it again:

_To His Eminence,  
Leonardo, Cardinal Papella,  
Archbishop of Lucca_

_These thirteen days past were Captur'd  
two Schooners of British manuf re.  
Ships stripped they were of Weapons  
and thru loaded with 720 Men plus  
Victuals and Grog.  
A fanciful Tayle the men did tell  
of a northern Queene who took from them  
their Ships thru Blackest Wytchcraft,  
with command over the  
Elements most Foul.  
A Boon they did beg of all  
who would Hear, to give them  
Vengeance 'gainst this Wicked Wytch.  
And many to their Pleas did heark'n.  
But know, Your Eminence, that some  
did call to Mind that these Men,  
far from being the  
Innocent and wretch'd Victims  
they claimed, were in fact  
bloody PIRATES,  
and thru divers Means and Synes  
and Markings upon their Flesh,  
they came to be known for the  
terrible Murderers they be.  
They were Hanged forthwith._

_Sworn and attested to in London  
by Lan fd Compton  
this 24rth Day of Aprille  
in the Year of Our Lord MDCCCXLI_

The letter was already nearly a month old! Would that he had a more … _present_ means of communication. But he didn't trust pigeons, and couriers drew too much attention.

No matter. Everyone else suffered that same lack, and it was one he could deal with.

So. That could only mean that Prince Hans's fat head was decorating a pike on Arendelle's city wall. If the Ice Witch had taken the ships, then she knew about the plot. Leonardo nodded to himself. It was wise indeed to keep his identity in this endeavor secret. Hans didn't know that his contribution to paying for the mercenary fleet was only about half of what they had charged. As puffed up and self-important as he was, it would never have occurred to him to wonder … and besides, Leonardo's agents were skilled.

Ah, well. Hans was no longer in the picture. His pawn could be removed from the board.

But … the old man reflected with distaste … all this settled out into one crucial fact: Elsa of Arendelle, that unnatural creature, that abomination, still drew breath. And that, he thought, his eyes glinting red in the candle's glow, was a state of affairs that would have to be corrected.

Soon.

He drew a sheet of parchment from a drawer, wet his quill, and began to write.

. . .

. . .

_July 10th, 1841: Arendelle_

Lief spotted Kristoff the moment he stumbled in and had a stein of strong brown ale waiting on him by the time he got to the bar. The Royal Ice Harvester downed it in four long swallows, clanked it back to the polished wood, and said, "Again."

"You know, you don't have to feel like you need to support my custom all on your own."

"Just. Pour."

He did, and that stein met the same fate as its predecessor. _Clank_. "Again."

"Come on, Kristoff, it can't be that bad!"

"She made me look at dresses for _five hours!"_

"… Oh." He poured the ale. "Maybe it _**is**_ that bad."

"I was seeing crinoline every time I closed my eyes!" He took a long swallow and wiped his mouth. "How do they even _**do**_ that? She and Elsa had to comment and get my view point on every God-damned scrap of lace or chunk of velvet! They all just looked like dresses! What the hell was I supposed to say?"

"I take it you made her mad?"

"Boiling! I wasn't 'being serious' or I didn't 'pay attention' or I was 'trying to hurt her feelings'!" He flung an arm wide, spilling a little of his drink. "Feelings, hell! I was trying to stay awake!"

"Did she cry?"

He sighed. "She's probably _**still**_ crying. Elsa ordered me off."

"She'll get over it. It's just wedding jitters. Happens to all of 'em."

"That's as may be. But I don't have to _**put up**_ with all of 'em. Just her."

Lief cocked a brow and gave him half a smile. "Is she worth it?"

"Hell, yes!"'

"Heh! Didn't hafta think about _**that**_ answer very long."

"That's not the point! I love her. She knows that. I'll do anything she asks. Anything at all. But it's … it's like she expects me to _**be**_ something I'm not. I was raised by trolls, for God's sake! How am I supposed to even _**have**_ an opinion about the 'merits of a full or half off-shoulder drape'?!"

"Okay, now you're speakin' a whole 'nother language."

"Exactly! They'd go into exhausting detail explaining each and every little piddly, useless, invisible difference in the dresses. Do you have any idea how many shades of _**white**_ there are? It's insane!"

"Kris … I'm sorry, man. But it's, what, three weeks to the wedding?"

"Twenty-two days." He peered over at the clock behind the bar. "Less about four hours."

"You'll live."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." Lief held out his hand for the stein. Kristoff drained the last swallow and passed it over, shortly receiving it back full. "That one's on the house."

"You're my hero, Lief."

"Eh. Hero, bartender. Pretty much the same thing."

. . .

. . .

In truth, Anna had calmed down shortly after her fiancé left. Elsa talked to her, smoothly and delicately, for quite some time. It didn't have the numbing effect of ale, but it did help the girl see more clearly. She ended up in a pout. "Well, poo. I bet Kris is mad at me now."

"No."

"But after what he had to sit through, and what you said about …"

"Again, no. I'm not saying he isn't mad. But I am quite sure he isn't mad _at you."_

"… Huh?"

"He was frustrated, and getting more so by the minute. He couldn't understand what we were doing, and that bothered him because he just wants to make you happy, and if circumstances prevent him from doing that … well, it makes him mad. He's a man, Anna. He fixes things. If you go to him with a problem, he's going to look at it like it's a challenge and he has to defeat it."

"… Boy, _**that's**_ real different from the way I talk to _**you**_ about things."

"Thus my point."

"You know I've noticed that about him. He's always fixing something!"

"He is action-oriented, not emotion-oriented."

"Huh." She wagged a finger back and forth between herself and Elsa. "And we just talk over the way we feel about stuff."

"Correct. He is a man. I am not."

"Ha!" She stared pointedly at Elsa's generous bosom. "That's for darn sure!"

Elsa smirked. "Feminine pulchritude aside, men simply don't think in the same ways that we do."

"Hmph," she grumped. "Seems like to me about half the time, he doesn't think at all."

"Now you're getting it," giggled Elsa. She placed a hand on her sister's shoulder. "So you can rest easy."

"… About what?"

"The next time you two are lazing about together, and he isn't saying anything, and you ask what's on his mind, and he says, 'Nothing.'? You can put your mind at ease that he isn't being evasive. He's telling the truth. He really and truly isn't thinking about anything at all."

"How can they _**do**_ that?"

"I haven't a clue. That's just the way they are. If there isn't something to do, they're just as likely as not to turn their thoughts off."

"… Weird." She thought that over for a moment and then pulled Elsa into a tight hug. "How'd you get so smart?"

"Listening to women who are more experienced than I." She smirked, and added, "And paying attention to the Council in all those meetings. If even the wisest among us do it, I have no doubt that Kristoff follows suit."

"Are you insulting my fiancé's intelligence?"

"Not in the least. But a man is a man is a man. We must all learn how to deal with them."

. . .

. . .

_July 14th_

Elsa had very wisely ordered the construction of two relatively large hostels. There were dozens of extra rooms in the palace, of course, but she rather thought there would be _hundreds_ of visitors of rank coming in for the wedding, and the situation with the existing inns was inadequate.

The first one was complete, and actually already had three guests. In the second, workers were adding the finishing touches here and there. Kristoff was directing the placement of the ice blocks in the basement, making sure they were properly packed in sawdust and stacked just so, to make it easy for the staff to extract a block when needed.

He'd just dusted off his hands, satisfied with the blanketing, and had turned to follow the lead scullery back up to the kitchen … but he stopped dead when he saw Anna standing in the doorway. Her eyes were just the tiniest bit puffy, as if she had not _been_ crying, but had _wanted_ to. And her lower lip trembled with the effort of holding the tears back.

He gathered her into his arms in an instant. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Her voice muffled by his shirt, she whimpered, "Can't we just elope and be done with it?"

_Oh._ "Um … I think Elsa would kill me deader than dead if I tried it."

"I just can't take it!" The tears tracked down her cheeks. "I never dreamed there would be so much to do! So many details! So much to memorize!"

He blew a rude breath. "I'm with you there. I don't know why we can't just read our vows."

"Stupid traditions."

"It's only another eighteen days or so, Anna. We can manage, can't we, love?" He stroked her braids. "My little Honey-Hair?"

She rewarded his small attempt at humor with a watery giggle. Then she turned those incredible eyes up to him and whispered, "I know what would make me feel a lot better."

The blood scampered out of his brain and headed south in a stampede. "Whoa. You know what the Quee-"

"I know what Elsa said. I don't care. Forget her." She hugged him tighter. "All that nonsense about propriety will be moot in two weeks. I'm _**not**_ pregnant yet, and if I _**get**_ pregnant today, nobody will know. And I won't care. It's gonna happen sooner or later, and I'm _**so okay**_ with that you just wouldn't believe it." She moved her hands up to cup his cheeks, craning her head back to make sure he knew how serious she was. "I need it. I need you. Now."

Finding a vacant room they could secure wasn't a problem. Keeping quiet enough so as not to give away their position? _**That**_ was a chore. Kristoff resorted to giving her the wadded up end of a pillowcase to bite.

. . .

. . .

_July 21 rst_

As with any city, Arendelle had its underworld. Crime is a stable facet of the human condition, and there will always be those who flout the law for one reason or another. Perhaps they like the challenge of treading on the edge. Or perhaps they are too stupid or unskilled to do anything that smacks of useful work. In any case, the gaols were rarely empty.

_Violent_ crime rates were very low. The city of Arendelle usually saw only two or three murders in any given year, and not all that many strong-arm robberies or assaults. And usually the "assaults" were between a couple of drunks.

Property crime was another matter. There were two locksmiths in town who did a brisk custom because of sneak-thieves and second-story men. Sharpers and confidence men and swindlers passed through a lot more regularly than the Captain of the Watch would have liked. But most days, all things being taken into consideration, Arendelle was a peaceful and pleasant place to live.

Anna's wedding had turned all that on its ear.

The huge influx of peers and rich traders and powerful businessmen had attracted the unsavory elements of society like iron filings to a lodestone. The Watch began getting daily complaints, and then almost hourly complaints, with demands that Something Be Done. The Captain worked with the Harbormaster to try to police those arriving day after day after day, but the docks were difficult to manage under normal traffic loads, and besides that there were any number of landing-spots along the fjord that weren't controlled at all. So the criminal element swelled to alarming proportions.

The Watch began doing sweeps through some of the lower-class neighborhoods, trying to flush out the riff-raff, but that had limited success. They finally hit on the idea of hiring out the men as guards for those who hadn't brought their own. Not only did that protect most of the guests, it also put a little extra coin the Watch's pockets.

So then the thieves began working in small teams. And a few of the victims got roughed up pretty badly.

And the Watch began working in sets of three. They caught a few of the robbers, and killed two in one really ugly incident.

And the thieves responded by forming gangs. The Undersecretary for Commerce of the Austrian Trade Union was attacked and left for dead. He was being treated at the palace, but hadn't regained consciousness. The fifteen-year-old daughter of the Moldavian ambassador narrowly escaped being raped. Her family had left the next day, disgusted that Arendelle had become such a lawless cesspool. And one of the Watch patrols was ambushed and filled full of arrows.

With royal permission, the Captain of the Watch instituted a "deadly force" rule. That night there was a pitched battle on Tannery Street. Sixteen thugs were killed and seven captured. Four of the Watch died.

And that's how things stood this humid Wednesday afternoon.

. . .

. . .

Dandrus Miklovic had been a lot of things in his thirty years. Apprentice mason. Smuggler. Horse thief. Tracker. Hired killer. Robber baron. He'd been all over Europe, and there was a price on his head in most countries. But Scandinavia hadn't heard of him yet, so he could move about with relative freedom. That allowed him to put together a gang of some of the worst cutthroats in Arendelle, and he took full advantage of it. Over the previous three nights they had waylaid no fewer than eight groups, and their bags were getting full. He figured to keep it up until the wedding, then kill the rest of the gang, take the loot, and move to the Americas. He could move into the Mississippi Valley somewhere, buy a thousand acres or so, and live like a king. Money opened all kinds of doors, as he had learned.

His gang had staked out a spot near the docks where they could watch for new arrivals. He'd learned pretty quick that the Watch had taken the gloves off, and he wasn't interested in war. He wanted an easy mark. That meant someone who hadn't had a chance to hire a guard yet.

The small galley currently tied up would fit the bill nicely. He'd seen a few of the passengers disembark, but no one who looked like he had enough gold on him to make it worth their …

Hold on.

Oh, yes.

The man who strode down the bridge and stepped onto the dock was tall and lean, probably a Spaniard, if Dandrus was any judge. He walked as if he owned the place, and positively dripped gold. Chains, a pendant, a brooch with a red stone, several rings. And he was alone.

Oops, wait. Not alone. The man was talking with some short, gray-haired fellow, obviously a servant. Okay, now he was pointing eastward in the direction of the palace. Heh. Very good. The servant took off at a trot, leaving Mr. Moneybags on the dock.

The Spaniard surveyed the area for a few moments, slowly turning to familiarize himself with various landmarks (the same as Dandrus would do in his place). Then he set off at a measured pace toward the north.

Dandrus signaled his men, and followed.

. . .

. . .

Carlos (for that was the Spaniard's name) needed to scope out the lay of the land. He knew that much of his information was out of date, but a word with the Harbormaster had relieved him of some of his anxiety. The Snow Queen still lived, and the wedding was still on. He had been advised to only travel in groups, as crime was very bad at present. Carlos had thanked him for the tip, and promptly ignored it.

He had meant to make a circuit of the main part of the city before turning in for the night, but it proved to be a good bit larger than he'd been led to believe. Either he would make the circuit and finish up in the wee hours, or he'd start tonight and finish in the morning. He hadn't yet made up his mind either way.

He walked along steadily, not varying his pace at all as he traced out various paths, memorized the placement of buildings, and tried to come to grips with the local tongue. Norwegian was not a language in his current lexicon, but he planned to fix that soon. He listened to snatches of it here and there, deciding that it was distantly related to German, though the syntax seemed rather different. He shortly decided that it was a pretty language (prettier than German at any rate) and looked forward to picking it up.

The semi-main boulevard he trod got narrower as he walked, eventually offering him a choice among three … well, they could hardly be more than alleys. He chose the one in the middle and entered. Two dozen paces later, four large men stepped out in front of him. Three carried clubs, the fourth a sword.

_Oh, ho! And I thought tonight would be boring._

He heard the other members of the gang close in behind him. A rough voice demanded, in broken Spanish, "Take off first necklace. You run, we kill."

He turned. They numbered six, and the one who had spoken was one of the biggest, ugliest …

A moment of recognition. The ghost of a smile wandered across his lips. In Romanian, he said, "You're Dandrus Malkovic. I never actually anticipated meeting you."

That brought the thief up short for a moment before he grinned. "If you know of me, then you must know what I want."

"That goes without saying."

"You are Spanish, though, yes?"

"I am."

"How do you know me?"

Carlos cracked his knuckles and slid two long daggers from hidden sheaths. "You killed a friend of mine three years ago."

Thirty-seven seconds later, Carlos strolled out the other end of the alley, the very picture of nonchalance. It would be nearly an hour before the Watch discovered the ten corpses.

. . .

. . .


	5. Consternation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 4: Consternation**

* * *

_The light in the room seemed to dim as a roaring sound filled her ears._

* * *

. . .

. . .

Supper was in the final preparation stages in the palace kitchens. Gerda was directing the setup of the dining room. Kai was doing a quick hall meeting with three of the pages and collecting all the appointment cards that came in that day. And Anna was in the study, arguing with Elsa about yet another point of etiquette related to her upcoming nuptials. Elsa was only listening with half an ear because her mind was consumed with what to do about the rising tide of crime in the city. Two more murders and six robberies just in the last twenty-four hours! The Watch was swamped, people were afraid to walk anywhere by themselves, and the latest reports indicated that it was spilling out to the countryside as well. She'd had no idea there were that many crooks, thugs, and bully boys in all of Scandinavia, and it seemed as if _every last one_ had decided to pick on Arendelle just when …

"Are you even _**listening**_ to me?"

Closing her eyes and drawing a long breath, Elsa lifted her head and met her sister's frustrated gaze. "I'm sorry, Anna. Truthfully, I've only heard about every third word."

"_**OOOOOHHHHH!"**_

"Yes, you are right to be upset. I said I would work with you on a solution, and I've been … distracted."

"You're not even _here!_ I might as well be talking to the candelabra!"

Elsa placed a weary hand against her forehead, trying to fight down her headache by willpower alone. "I am truly sorry. The city is being taken over by thieves and killers, and I'm afraid I don't have enough mental capacity to deal with that and planning a wedding."

Anna sort of slumped. "Well … huh … when you put it like that? My problems seem kinda … small."

"They aren't small to you."

"Yeah, well." She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "I know you've said comparisons are never fair, but still." Glancing up, she caught her sister's gaze. "Did … did anyone get hurt?"

"Two people were badly beaten, just since yesterday … and one couple … was killed."

A hand flew to her throat as Anna gasped. "Killed? Like … _**murdered?"**_

Elsa only nodded.

"But … but how …"

"You didn't really have any way to know about it, or gauge the difference. You've mostly been in the palace over the last couple of weeks. When you _have_ gone out, you've had a guard detail."

"… I, uh, wondered about that."

"It simply isn't safe to move about alone anymore."

Anna blushed, recalling a few recent times when she _**had**_ been out alone. That is, until she met up with Kristoff. "Is that why there are so many …"

There came a knock at the door.

Elsa looked up and said, "Come!"

The Captain of the Watch poked his head in the door. "Your Majesty? I have some … unusual news that I feel certain you would want to know."

She motioned him in. He glanced over at Anna, then back at the Queen. "It's, um, fairly sensitive."

The Princess put up both hands. "Not my deal. Got it." She pointed at Elsa. "I'll see you at supper?"

"Certainly."

"Okay. Um, I'm, uh, sorry about …"

"Don't worry. I'll handle it." _Somehow._

Anna nodded and wandered off.

Turning her attention back to the Captain, she asked, with dread in her heart, "What's your news, Jørgen?"

He placed a thin stack of reports on her desk. "Nine patrols have, in the last three hours, discovered fifty-seven bodies."

The light in the room seemed to dim as a roaring sound filled her ears. Elsa grabbed the edge of the desk and then leaned forward against it, eyes wide, mouth working. "… Fifty … fifty … seven …"

Jørgen held up a hand. "Wait. To the best of our ability to determine, all fifty-seven were members of criminal gangs."

She sat up, blinking at him. "… What?"

He walked over to the map of Arendelle that hung on the wall. "The first ones were found here, in an alley behind the Queen's Head. Seven, dead only minutes, perhaps seconds. Then a group of six was found here, near the chandler's shop." He pointed out two locations and used two of the pins that were ready to hand in a cushion beside the map to mark them. "Then there was a group of eight we found in Scatterback Street. Halstadt's bunch. Been tryin' to collar him for a month." Another pin. "Then we found six here beside the cistern for Butcher's row. Then ten just southeast of there, in Tramp's Alley, not far from the docks. We're pretty sure they were the first to die." Two more pins. "One of that group was Dandrus Malkovic."

"Is … that name supposed to mean something?"

"He's durable, or he _was_; a real survivor, and extremely bad news. Supposed to have killed upwards of a hundred men, half of 'em with his bare hands."

"… Oh."

"Then three patrols found three more groups …" He walked back to the desk and picked up the top sheet from the stack. "… Right. Four here, and five here, and five more … here." He placed the pins and then looked back at the sheet. "And as I was coming over here to talk with you about it, a runner came up and told me about another group of six they'd just found." He placed the last pin, turned to her and assumed parade rest.

"Jørgen … are you _completely_ sure these were all … criminals?"

He nodded. "Malkovic and his gang were a given, ditto Halstadt. Many of the others were already known to us in some way. The rest? We can be fairly certain that they comprised gangs of robbers. We recovered bags of coin and jewels from five of the groups."

She had to trust his judgment. Jørgen Fjelstad was a grizzled fellow, a contemporary of her father's, and a man her father had trusted. The fifth son of a very minor landless Norwegian noble, he'd seen combat in two wars, could think on his feet, and took his job very seriously.

Elsa tried to think of something to say. "… But … how …"

"All of them died the same way, by a stab to the heart or a slash to the throat, using a long, thin dagger. The strikes were uniformly fatal, and very, very precise. No victim was struck more than once."

She sat and processed that for a moment. "… Are you saying that … that _**one man**_ killed them all?"

"That's what the evidence seems to show."

"I'm … I'm sorry. I'm having a little trouble … taking this all in."

"As did I. It would seem that we have a vigilante of sorts, and he is making a large dent in the criminal population." He turned back to the map. "As you can see, the pattern of killings makes a rough arc running from just north of the dock up and around the perimeter. We've got patrols combing the areas ahead of there now, but I haven't heard anything." He went over and took the second sheet from the stack. "This is a list of the stolen property we recovered. Not much we can do about the coin in a lot of cases because they're usually kronor, but some of the foreign coins might lead us back to whomever it was stolen from. And some of the pieces of jewelry are distinctive enough that a description could return it."

"… Wait. Wait a moment. This … this vigilante killed these men … and left the spoils with the corpses?"

"He did. That's another reason why I'm sure this is the work of one man."

"One extremely _dangerous_ man."

"That's my next point."

"Do you think he just got here?"

"We do. I talked with the Harbormaster, and there was only one new ship docked today. Everyone was off by half past one, and the killings started before two. I've got copies of the manifest in the hands of five patrols. They're going to the closest inns, and the new hotels. We may be able to discover his identity by process of elimination. And we really do need to find him."

They talked for a while longer, Elsa asking a lot of questions and getting fewer answers than she liked. After the Captain left, she sat at her desk with her chin resting on laced fingers and just thought about the situation.

On the one hand, by Jørgen's estimate, some fifteen or twenty percent of the violent criminals in the city had died that afternoon. That could only be viewed as a good thing. If the rest of the criminal element found out about this deadly threat to their activities, maybe they would just leave.

On the other hand, though, that meant that there was someone roaming the streets who could deal out death like a _regiment_ of assassins, and that did _**not**_ leave her feeling sanguine about this state of affairs. Who was he? Why was he here? Did he pose a threat to her, personally? To Arendelle in general? Just because he was targeting the wicked now, did that necessarily mean he would leave the honest folk alone? What if he was unhinged? A crazy man with the skill-set he evidenced was a very frightening thing.

Her stomach growled at her, reminding her of her promise to Anna. With a heavy sigh, she rose and made her way down to the dining room.

. . .

. . .

After their evening meal, Elsa and Anna retired to the Princess's room to go over the day's announcement cards. Elsa was meeting with some of the visitors on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and tried each evening previous to go through all the requests for audience and plan out the next day's meetings.

She would see peers and nobility in the morning in four half-hour meetings from ten until noon. Then she would see the less-noble-but-still-important types from two to five in twelve fifteen-minute meetings. It was almost entirely formality, and no real business was conducted, but she was able to feel out each of them to see if there was potential for trade agreements, grounds for an alliance, or warning signs of hostility. She got regular doses of all three.

To date, with eight days' worth of these episodes come and gone, she reflected that fewer of them had been pleasant than she had hoped. Some of the visitors got belligerent, some were rude or unprepared, some were obviously frightened of her and her powers, and some made unwanted advances (until things got rather more chilly than they found comfortable). But enough of the meetings produced positive results that she felt good about the practice.

Anna held up a card. "Huh."

"What is it?"

"Have we seen anyone from Spain yet?"

"I haven't, personally. That doesn't mean there's no one in the city of that stripe. Why, is that from a Spaniard?"

"Yep. Appears so." She flicked the card at Elsa, who nicked it out of the air expertly and read it. "My goodness. _Carlos Fernandez Jacinto Enrique Diego de la Maria._ They do go in for their long names, don't they?" She worked through the rest of the card and frowned. "My Spanish isn't very good, but I think this says he's a minor noble of some sort. Isn't that what _'hidalgo'_ means?"

"You're asking me?"

"According to Kai, you've had more Spanish lessons than I have."

Anna allowed herself a guilty grin. "There's the lesson, and then there's remembering it."

Elsa answered her grin with a wry one of her own and a sigh. She studied her calendar briefly, scratched through a name and wrote his instead into a spot at the bottom of the next day's agenda. "There. Guess I'll find out what an _hidalgo_ looks like tomorrow."

"You up to doin' some for next week?"

Elsa considered it, but then shook her head. "I really should talk with Captain Fjelstad again before we go to bed."

As if by magic, there came a knock on the door and Gerda stepped in. "Ah, there you are. Jørgen was looking for you."

Biting her lip, she asked, "Did he say what for?"

"Just that it was important. And he's got one of those foreign types with him."

That made her sit up. "Does he look … Spanish?"

Gerda just blinked a couple of times. "And I'd know what Spanish looks like … how, exactly?"

"Sorry."

"He's blond, if that helps."

It didn't. Elsa shrugged and stood. "Tell him to meet me in my study."

. . .

. . .

The young man, it transpired, was English; he was also fluent in Norwegian, having spent three years in school in Oslo. And he had quite a tale to tell.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Neville Harcourt, eldest son of the Baron Teynham. My fiancée and I came here as much for the pleasure of the trip as to wish your Princess well, and everything was wonderful until this evening. We had been urged to hire a guard due to a late increase in robberies, and had secured a pair of likely men from the Watch. I have a bit of skill with the rapier, and said so to the Harbormaster, but he was quite insistent. So yesterday we toured your lovely city. The principle cathedral is quite breathtaking, by the way.

"In any case, we did not encounter any difficulties at all, nor did we witness anything untoward. I believe now, to my chagrin, that it was pure luck that we were not accosted sooner. At any rate, when we decided to go out and sample the fare at the taverns this evening, we neglected to hire a guard."

Elsa had a pretty good idea where this was going.

"Our high tea was quite nice, featuring an excellent bit of cod and some truly remarkable ale."

Jørgen put in, "They went to the Cook and Kettle."

The Queen nodded. She knew of their talent with seafood, and the bright golden ale for which they were justly well-known.

"Henrietta and I were on our way back to the hostel when four ruffians blocked our way. I stepped in front of her and drew my sword, but the man who faced me was taller, wider, and a great deal stronger than I. He beat my weapon aside by sheer force and then we were handled most discourteously … but only for a few breaths.

"One of the ruffians made an extremely ill-mannered jest about Henrietta, and I fear she swooned. I was struggling to prevent his carrying out his threat, when this knife simply appeared in his head. It was the most remarkable thing, and I could not help but stare. A bare instant later, another appeared in the temple of the man who was holding me. Both men simply fell to earth like wet cloaks.

"Then there was another man there in the street with us. I did not see him arrive. He moved that quickly. There was a flurry of movement between one breath and the next, and then the other two ruffians slumped over, dead.

"It was dusk, and overcast, as you know, and the light was bad. Our rescuer moved like quicksilver around a bowl, never pausing, each motion fading into the next with baffling speed. I was lightly buffeted out of the way as he bent over the first two and retrieved his knives. And then he was gone."

Elsa looked at Jørgen. "Did you get a description?"

"Not much of one. Neville, here, thinks he had dark hair. And he was tall. But he just moved too damned fast – begging your grace – to get a good look."

"I have been informed," continued the Englishman, "that this fellow is a vigilante, and is only lately arrived." He shook his head with a rueful smile. "Glad I am that he decided to intervene. Poor Henrietta is still in our room, recovering."

Elsa thanked him for his information, and a servant ushered him out. She and Jørgen looked at each other for the space of three breaths before he said, "I can't quite bring myself to wish this man any ill fortune."

"I know precisely how you feel."

The Captain let his head fall forward momentarily but then he straightened back up. "He's not the only one. Neville, I mean."

"Oh?"

"We had reports of two other … interventions. A total of eleven more thugs, which brings the grand total so far to seventy-two. We're making a large pile of them well south of town. Most of them didn't smell very good when they were alive, and I certainly don't want to have that charnel stench blowing through the city."

Elsa's voice was a little faint. "Certainly not."

He gave her an abbreviated salute and walked to the door. "Well, I won't take up anymore of your time. But I felt you would want to be kept abreast of matters."

"Thank you, Captain."

Her dreams that night were energetic, and filled with quickly-flowing shadows that never quite became clear enough to see. It was not restful sleep.

. . .

. . .


	6. Investigation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 5: Investigation**

* * *

_"God save Queen Elsa!"_

* * *

. . .

. . .

Carlos Fernandez Jacinto Enrique Diego de la Maria was as nonplussed about the situation in Arendelle as he had been about _anything_ in many, many, many years. While it did cover a few square miles, sprawling out over the rough terrain like a child's blocks spilled across the yard, the place just barely qualified as a 'city' when considering the number of people who called it home. And yet there were hundreds – perhaps _several_ hundreds – of hard-bitten criminals currently stalking the place, many times more than the economy could support. Even with the upcoming festivities, it made no sense! He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to clean his blades in the last four hours, and he felt sure that at least _some_ of the vermin he'd exterminated would eventually be tied back to him. There had, after all, been a few witnesses among the people he'd saved. It was almost like a few of the wars he'd fought in, except that the vast majority of the thugs had no idea how to properly handle a weapon.

He stood in the shadows beside one of the city's taverns (and there were a LOT of those) and surveyed the area. At present, the only people out and about in the city center were members of the Watch, or people with bodyguards. The Harbormaster had warned him about the recent increase in crime, but Carlos felt that he had drastically understated the case. If everyone was too afraid to leave their homes on their own recognizance, it was only a matter of time before this society collapsed.

Perhaps, he mused, that was the point. He thought back to the conversation he had overheard in the Vatican that had urged him toward Arendelle in the first place . . . . . . .

_Tales of the 'Snow Queen' had sped all over Europe and into north Africa and the Middle East, but most people dismissed them as, let's say, overly fanciful. Carlos, however, had taken the story very seriously. He could hardly do otherwise. So he made up his mind to go and visit Elsa of Arendelle at some point, and see whether or not she might be a 'kindred spirit'._

_At home, the latest armed nonsense was the not-so-cold war between the Queen Regent Maria Cristina and her political rival, General Espartero. She had been doing her utmost to rescind the Constitution she'd signed not four years earlier, and that just incensed the liberal parties that he represented. This conflict held no interest to Carlos apart from how it might affect his estates. Basically indifferent to the latest miniature civil war's outcome, he had moved out of Andalusia and taken up residence in Rome under a name he'd used there in the past. That facet of his multi-layered character had a reputation as an exceedingly reliable courier, and he was able to keep himself entertained by dabbling in the wealth of intrigues that ebbed and flowed through the Vatican._

_He'd delivered a sealed missive to the Pope's personal secretary, a slimy old fart that Carlos would have cheerfully ushered off to the next plane of existence with less than half an excuse. But, as he didn't feel like running from Church agents for the next fifty years, he refrained. However, getting some dirt on Cardinal Stench was just 'playing the game well' as far as he was concerned. He secreted himself and listened._

_What he heard had shocked and alarmed him. The Cardinal was going after Elsa of Arendelle with all his resources. Teams had been dispatched already!_

_He knew he didn't have a lot of time. He'd sailed out of Rome, heading north, two days later._

So now he pondered the question. Could the Cardinal have engineered this appalling influx of criminals? It didn't take Carlos long to determine how the rancid old sinner may have done it … and he had _certainly_ evinced the necessary levels of blackest spleen where Queen Elsa was concerned. Carlos doubted that horrid man would lose a second's sleep over all the lives lost in his campaign of hate.

That realization merely firmed up his resolve. Looking around at the Square again, he ran through a few possible methods for fixing the problem, and realized that he currently stood woefully short of hard information. Getting it meant that he would need to change his clothes, and he didn't know where Juan had secured a room for them, so ...

He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and emptied his mind, an exercise that came automatically after so many decades of practice. The astral landscape billowed into existence, and for most of a minute he surveyed it carefully.

… _there …_

He had Juan's location pinned. Allowing the silvery-gray expanse to blur into the background noise it usually was, Carlos opened his eyes, a tiny smile flitting across his features. There were at least four gangs of robbers between him and his liege-man. He strolled off in that direction, hands empty, a low, tuneless whistle announcing his presence to anyone who might be interested in the contents of his purse.

. . .

. . .

When the door to the suite opened, Juan looked up from the book he'd been reading and grinned, pleased that Carlos had found him … so he could get in a dig. "I felt you that time. You're slipping, old man."

Carlos shrugged, unperturbed. "I wasn't trying to be subtle about it."

Juan marked his place and rose, his smooth, coordinated movements belying the gray in his beard. "I hear you've been stirring up some excitement in town."

"More like excitement came looking for me."

"As usual, then."

"It seems Fate would have it no other way."

Juan crossed his arms, his grin growing. "So … how many?"

"You expect me to keep accounts of the roaches I step on?"

The liege-man just waited, his smirk in place.

"Fine. Ninety-six."

"Oh-ho! The biggest rumor I heard was no more than half that."

"Several of them are very recent." He moved to the wardrobe. "I need the sandy set."

"Have you eaten?" Juan indicated a cold plate covered with a white cloth. "I had them bring up some fruit and cheese. And have a look at this." He pointed to a small keg off to the side. "These people know their ales. Don't know if you've tried any yet …"

"Not yet. But I plan to remedy that soon." Carlos stepped over and whipped off the cover to examine the offerings. "Hmm. Not bad for as far north as we are." He sampled a crisp slice of pear, and had to chase a drip of juice down his chin. The cheese was rather sharper than he normally liked, but complemented the pear well. "This has possibilities."

Juan had drawn him a tall glass of a light golden liquid with a short, frothy head. "Here. Try this."

_*sniff*_ "My, my." _*sip-swish-swallow*_ Carlos's eyes slid shut, and he murmured, "By the saints!" He took a longer gulp, then set the glass down and just smiled. "I could learn a thing or two about brewing around here."

"The hosteler says they ship this stuff all over northern Europe. But they keep the best right here."

"That I can well believe." He picked the glass back up and looked at the ale. "Hmm. Filtered. And it still has a wonderfully complex finish." He took another deep swallow and smacked his lips. "Well. I can think of one good reason to make a home here."

"You say that now. Have you ever lived through one of these northern winters?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

Juan stared at him. "I've known you almost thirty years, and you still manage to spring stuff on me."

"Can't help that."

"And the cold made no difference?"

"No." He tossed off the rest of the glass and placed it on the side table. "Why would it?"

"Heh. Why, indeed?" Juan shook his head. "Must be nice."

"It has its advantages." Carlos rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out a large leather sack. Dumping its contents on the floor, he shook out a very plain tunic and a set of patched breeches. A worn, crumpled hat rolled free as well. "Where are the boots?"

"Still in the wardrobe." Juan chuckled. "Losing your eyesight, too?"

"Har-har." Carlos retrieved the footwear and began to disrobe.

"You'll only be welcome at about two out of three taverns in that sad, sorry getup."

"Doesn't matter. Not trying to make a good impression, and all I'm after is information."

The other man tossed him a short salute. "Good hunting."

. . .

. . .

"God save Queen Elsa!"

Carlos raised his mug with the others when the cry rang out in the long, dim room. He had heard it so often this night he was beginning to suspect it was some sort of mantra. But to a man, they all seemed sincere. He turned back to the large, burly blond sitting beside him, and prodded, "Jyou viss sayingk?" (He was picking up the language, but was still at the point where it was a lot easier to understand than speak.)

"Oh, yeah. So there she was, her sister nothin' but a ice statue, and she just broke down cryin' like fit t' die. Awfulest thing I ever seen. She was hangin' onto th' Princess like her life was over."

This was the second time Carlos had heard this exact story. Still, his heart raced with anticipation of the outcome. "An den?"

"Well … the Princess come back t' life. I gots t' tell ya, I near-bouts squawled myse'f. She started thawin' out from th' middle 'til th' ice turned all back inta her, an' she's as spry an' lively as ever."

This was _**extremely**_ critical information. That Queen Elsa's magic extended to suspending life and then reanimating it was monumentally significant. Carlos was almost sure by now that …

"Hey, Olaf! Come in, come in!"

Carlos turned on his bench and glanced toward the door … and nearly dropped his drink.

There was a snowman ambling into the tavern.

A _walking_ snowman.

A walking snowman who brought his own snow-cloud with him.

Olaf went and shook, ah, _hands_ with the men at the table by the door, then wandered in Carlos's general direction. His companion bellowed, "Hey, Olaf, come over here, buddy!"

The snowman agreeably trundled over and stopped in front of Carlos, whose mouth was hanging open. Olaf reached a stick-hand up and gently closed it for him, then offered companionably, "Kristoff says you'll spill your ale if you let your mouth hang open like that."

_It speaks!_

The big blond man laughed loudly at Olaf's astute observation and clapped Carlos on the back. "He's got th' right of it."

Still staring at Olaf, Carlos asked, "… Did … did Quain Elsa … did zhe …"

"Oh, yes, she built me out of snow, and gave me my own little flurry to take with me so I don't melt!" He pointed at the tenuous cloud over his head.

Reaching a tentative hand over to the snowman, Carlos felt the icy bite on his fingers. He whispered, "By the saints …"

"My name is Olaf. What is yours?"

"… Enrique." _This thing is self-aware! Mother of God, she's a Maker!_

"That's a funny name. Do you have a brother named Outrique?"

That brought Carlos back down to earth, only to bounce higher than he had been before. _It tells jokes? Was she able to imbue this creation with a __**soul**__?_ "Um … not railly. No. I had a coople-pair of brawthers, but they doyed."

"Oh, that is so sad! I'm very sorry. Are they in Heaven now?"

"I … beelayve so." _How is this possible? I'm having a religious discussion with an animated snowman. _"They were sawns of the Chorch, and fait'ful mans."

"That's good. I like going into the church. It's really pretty and …"

A loud whistle was heard outside and half a dozen of the Watch ran past. Olaf tripped over to the door and followed them, disappearing into the darkness. Carlos stared blankly at the door for a moment, then looked over at the tall clock behind the bar. _Hmm. Time to be getting on back to the hostel. I want Juan's take on this._ He drained his beer (he'd tried _several_ different ales that evening, and enjoyed them all) and tossed a few coins on the bar. Gripping his companion's arm briefly, he concentrated before saying, "Tanks for de stoory, Berthold." Then he pulled his hat down and slipped out of the tavern. Berthold, after staring off fuzzily at nothing for the space of two breaths, shook his head and returned to his drink.

One of his buddies sat down. "Bert."

"Albin."

"Who's your friend?"

That bought Albin a blank stare. "Huh?"

"Your friend, that guy you were talkin' to. You an' Olaf both talked to him."

"… How much have you had to drink?"

"Oh, come on, Bert, I ain't blind! He was sittin' right here, plain as day!"

Bert chuckled and said, "You need to cut back to one keg a night. You're seein' things."

Albin gave him a funny look, then got up and found another table to sit at.

. . .

. . .

"I'm telling you, Juan, any monarch in Europe … strike that, any monarch in the _**world**_ would be thrilled beyond measure to have a _tenth_ of the loyalty that Queen Elsa's subjects have for her. It's almost beyond belief. I certainly wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it over and over and over and …"

"Are ya sure they're not under an enchantment?"

"Nobody has that much …" He stopped himself and considered what he'd been about to say. "Eehhhhhhherrrrrummmm. Okay, maybe she does have that kind of power. But that's not what they … see, she's sacrificed a lot for her kingdom."

"So? Lots of royalty does that."

"Not like this." He gave Juan a brief rundown of the Battle of the Five Ships, leaving the man slack-jawed.

"… All five?"

"Uh-huh."

"Up on their sterns."

"That's right."

"No way in Hell."

"Then argue with every other person I met tonight, because their stories all jibe. She took five warships down by herself."

"Damn. And I thought _you_ had some power."

"Exactly. Juan … she's a Maker."

A quick chill ran up the man's back. "Are you serious?"

Carlos told him about Olaf. "And he's … he's an accepted member of the community! He goes where he pleases. Everyone at the tavern knew him."

"… Exactly how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Laugh it up, but you'll see."

Juan got a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hey, speaking of seeing, I was down by the kitchen …"

"Of course you were."

"Jerk. Anyway, I came back through the lobby. There's a portrait of the Queen there. Did you see it?"

"Huh. No, I must have missed it. Why?"

"If it's at all accurate, she's quite a looker."

"Hmm. Well, I was informed several times in every tavern I visited that Elsa is THE great beauty of Scandinavia. But I fail to see how any woman could live up to the hype. Obviously the people love her. That would translate well into thinking her the most gorgeous thing God ever let live."

"True." Juan sat up and snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. You'll see her tomorrow."

"Oh, yes?"

"The invitation's on your little table over there."

Carlos retrieved it. "Huh. 'Your Audience with her Majesty, Queen Elsa, is arranged to begin at 4:45. Please be prompt.' Well." He turned the card over, but there was nothing besides the Royal Seal of Arendelle there. "That's good. I need to talk to her as soon as possible about that odious Cardinal."

"Then here's your chance."

. . .

. . .

Elsa's reputation as a gracious, graceful, self-contained Queen was certainly _**not**_ undeserved … but it certainly _**was**_ being put to the test.

She sighed to herself as she glanced at the clock on the far wall, visible over the shoulder of the mincing little Austrian popinjay who had been veiling his insults in a sugar coating for the last fourteen minutes. He wasn't the only one who had done so, just (so far) the most tiresome. "Yes," she said, interrupting his monologue, "Arendelle thanks you for your interest in our smelly furs and our substandard beer, but We have another appointment, so We will bid you a good day."

The Viscount stood stiffly, his cavernous nose raised imperiously. "I believe I've said enough-"

"Indeed," Elsa cut in, calmly, "and more." She waved a couple of fingers at a guard, who escorted the Viscount out.

The next appointment was with that _hidalgo_ she and Anna had discussed the previous evening. Elsa had been looking forward to meeting a Spaniard, but at the moment she only wanted the audience to be over. Her back was stiff and her patience thin. She hoped he would be an improvement over that Austrian. Truthfully, he could hardly be otherwise.

Carlos, for his part, was as nervous as he'd been in quite some time. He desperately wanted to make a good impression. He had determined that these brief meetings were just a way for the Queen to size up her visitor, and in no way indicated the promise of any sort of follow-up. He needed a private audience with her, private enough that they could discuss things that no one else should know about. He glanced again at the small board set up in a prominent location listing the languages Elsa knew, in descending order of familiarity. Spanish was at the bottom of the list. But French was Number Two, and he was fluent himself. That was one worry out of the way at least.

A guard turned and motioned to him, and he quickly strode toward the door, pausing as his name was read. "Carlos Fernandez Jacinto Enrique Diego de la Maria, _hidalgo_ of Andalusia!" He marched on into the room, noting in passing the tasteful and elegant décor. The reception chamber was arranged so that he came in from Elsa's left side, past a screen and three guards, so he didn't really see her, especially given that one of her advisors was leaning over to speak with her. Dropping to one knee in front of the Queen in an elaborate bow, he raised his head and their eyes met …

… Some years past, off the Cape of Good Hope in autumn, he had been aboard a tall ship sailing for Madagasikara when a squall came up out of the west. They had a fresh wind and a following sea, and were able to stay ahead of the storm, but what caught Carlos's attention was the way the sky changed color from horizon to horizon. The west was dark, a swirling mix of slates and cobalts illuminated with jagged bursts of lightning. The east was bright, nearly white in places due to a thin haze over the water. But overhead was cerulean, the truest, purest blue he had ever seen … until that moment. The Queen's high, pale forehead and the slim lines of her brows framed an arresting pair of eyes that, frankly, he had never imagined existed. His gaze was irrevocably drawn, via her delicate nose, past creamy, flawless cheeks, to the blush-pink bow of her lips, slightly parted at the time to show even, white teeth. His short speech of introduction died in his throat as he found himself utterly unable to tear his eyes from this vision of Nordic perfection.

Elsa may or may not have been breathing, but she couldn't be bothered to care at that point. She had never before considered that there might be such a thing as a truly _beautiful_ man, but she now revised that opinion. He was … dazzling. Eyes like chips of obsidian from the highlands peered up at her from a swarthy, angular face bracketed by a strong but lean chin and a sweep of hair so black it shamed the starling's wing. It glistened in the slanted afternoon light that struck through the high windows, and she found herself mesmerized. Wide shoulders and a deep chest tightly filled a burgundy-and-gold brocaded vest, and his smooth, sinuous movements as he regained his feet spoke of great strength and a deep and intimate familiarity with physical action …

The quarter-hour they spent together was notable for its lack of actual communication and its plethora of cleared throats, stuttering, and nervous embarrassment. Carlos had to force himself to keep his eyes off her as he left, and shortly found that he couldn't remember a single detail of their conversation.

Elsa stayed in her chair, quite bemused, for several minutes before the 'ahem-ahem-ahem' of her _charge d'affairs_ got her attention. Later, at dinner, she took a few sips of wine and ate three grapes. Everyone else at the table noticed that she seemed very much distracted.

That evening, Carlos sat brooding in his hotel room. No amount of Juan's cheerful banter would break his shell, and the gray-haired man finally gave up, leaving a tray of cold cuts and fruit for his master before heading down to the nearby tavern for some of the excellent local ale.

. . .

. . .


	7. Communication

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 6: Communication**

* * *

_"This is the only thing we can do to stay even remotely sane, Elsa!"_

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Friday 23 July 1841_

After breakfast, Juan came back into the room to find Carlos sitting near the window in the same chair he'd been in the night before, only now he was limned by the morning sunglow. The keg he was carrying landed next to the first one before he walked over. "You planning on staring a hole in the glass?"

Carlos didn't immediately respond, except to re-position one leg slightly.

His liege-man laid a hand on his shoulder. "You have _**really**_ been somewhere else since you returned from your audience with the Queen. Did it go all that badly?"

That dark gaze slid around and up to lock on Juan's face. "… Badly? Ah … no. I wouldn't say that." He leaned forward and rested his chin on a fist. "But it gave me a very great deal to think about."

Juan pulled a chair over and straddled it, leaning on the back. "You know you can talk to me about anything. In fact, you have."

"True."

"If this is something I can help with, I will. You know that, too."

"Also true."

"So is it?"

"I have no idea."

The gray beard twitched back and forth a few times. "Okay, then use me as a sounding board. Just speak it out loud and listen to how it sounds."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, thinking that tactic over, and finally nodded. "Very well. I've told you about my marriages."

"Belinda and Julia, right."

"They were arranged."

"I know. But you had happy marriages anyway. More or less."

"More or less. The first would have been happier if Julia hadn't been so frail. The second, if the pox hadn't …" His voice caught as he bowed his head. The deaths of his children still affected him even after so much time had passed. He drew a couple of long breaths. "But, yes. They were arranged. And in each case, my wife and I became good friends."

Juan bobbed his head once in acknowledgement.

The next words came slowly, as he worked out the concepts in his mind. "I even came to love Belinda, after a fashion. She was sensible, had a head for numbers, appreciated a good tumble in the sheets, gave birth easily, and knew how to be a good mother. Made a solid marriage partner."

"Aye. You've said all that before from time to time."

"But I was never _In Love_ with either of them."

"Pfaugh. Sentimental nonsense."

"Yes. I know that's your view on it. Until yesterday it was mine as well."

Juan rocked back in shock. _Carlos? In love? Inconceivable!_ "So the audience went _**very**_ well."

"I have no idea. I don't even recall what I said, and I suspect I sounded like an idiot. All I can tell you is that she is an angelic vision, that neither her portrait nor the descriptions I heard even _**begin**_ to do her justice, and that I felt a deeply visceral attraction the moment our eyes met." His gaze flicked over toward Juan. "And I am reasonably sure she felt the same way."

"… You got a Sending?"

He nodded.

"… Oh."

"Yes. Very much 'Oh', indeed."

Juan developed a look of intense concern. "You know what that makes me think about?"

"I might."

"Hamaraja?"

"Exactly. I thought at the time that old man's prophecy was as likely to happen as a blind man catching unicorn farts."

"I think those were your exact words when you told me about it. A woman who is 'your equal in every way'?"

"Except I believe Elsa to be _**more**_ than my equal in many respects."

"… And she's young yet."

Carlos nodded slowly. "Quite young. I can only _**imagine**_ how strong she will be in fifty years. Or a hundred."

"So then … um … is she …"

"I would stake my life on it."

"Well." Juan rose and began to pace. "That's one question answered, anyway."

Carlos stood and moved to stand in front of the window. "I have to see her again."

"I … suppose I could run another card up to the palace."

"I may have you do that."

"… Or …"

Carlos gave him the eye. "You're not going to suggest what I think you're about to suggest, are you?"

"Hey, if she's one of you, it should be perfectly safe."

An emphatic shake of the head answered him. "Dreamwalking is fine if the two people involved are intimately familiar with each other. All it would do is scare her half to death, and I will **NOT** do that under any circumstances."

"Fine. We'll do it the slow way." He held out a hand. "Let me have another card.

. . .

. . .

Elsa of Arendelle paced her study like a caged wolf.

Jørgen had been by just after breakfast (of which she could eat hardly any) to give her the overnight reports, and they had been delightfully free of mayhem. The Watch caught three members of one gang, while the fourth had drowned in the fjord after tripping over Olaf's head. Other than that, the night turned out quiet. He offered his opinion that the large pile of corpses just out of sight to the south had had a marvelously steadying effect on the criminal element. They were, after all, in the game to turn a quick coin or three, not to end up filleted like a cod by some shadowy vigilante. One of the patrol boats had intercepted a low, black craft filled to the gunwales with robbers on their way to less fatal pursuits. With them, they'd had three large sacks of loot. It was being cataloged as they spoke.

After he left, she had summoned Kai and directed that all future requests for audience be postponed until further notice. She also asked him to find out where that Andalusian _hidalgo_ was staying in town. He had been about to question that order, but the intense gaze she sent him quelled that idea in a hurry. He rushed to comply.

Bits of frost covered most of the surfaces in the study. She'd not had this much trouble keeping her ice at bay in better than a year. It was no problem to reabsorb or banish it once she noticed it, but the fact of its existing at all was irksome. It meant her control was slipping.

It meant fear was beginning to be an issue.

Fear, the trolls had said some fourteen years ago, would be her enemy. Fear, she had learned, would blanket the land in an eternal winter. Fear had nearly killed the beloved sister she had tried to protect by spending well over a decade in near-isolation. And fear seemed to be her mind's response to the reaction her body had experienced when she'd met Carlos Diego de la Maria. Even now there was a sort of …_tight_ feeling in her nether regions, a restless anticipation she had never felt before. It was so … different. Different, and secretly exciting, and distracting and scary.

She leaned on the window sill, noticed the ice creeping up the pane, and sighed. _Maybe I haven't been letting my powers out often enough_, she thought. During and after the Battle of the Five Ships she had felt so … free. Maybe the ice just needed to be let out for a bit. Nodding absently, she pondered what to do about it. Then her face lit in a smile.

The guard outside her door (purely superfluous in her mind, as she knew that she herself was the most dangerous creature in the land … possibly apart from the recently-arrived vigilante, who made her quite nervous) turned to look at her when she stepped into the hall. "Kindly find Gerda for me, would you?"

"Right away, my Queen!"

The palace chatelaine soon showed up and Elsa outlined her plan (leaving out the part about her ice getting away from her). Gerda thought a short break might be just the thing. The wedding was only nine days away, and she'd noticed that tempers had gotten short.

"Would you happen to know where my sister is?"

Just for the barest fraction of an instant, an expression of … concern? disapproval? flashed across Gerda's face. But then her normal, no-nonsense face reappeared. "The last time I saw her, she was sneaking chocolate truffles from the kitchen."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised."

Gerda had to giggle a little at that.

"Well," continued Elsa, "you look for her and I'll look for her. The castle's only so big, and she's not … subtle."

"Aye, we'll find her."

. . .

. . .

Anna wasn't in the kitchen, though the grumbling head Cook was. Did the Princess think that chocolate truffles were easy to make? Had she ever watched it being done? It was a complex process that took time and a steady hand and she didn't even pause to savor them, just wolfed them down as if …

Anna wasn't out in the gardens. None of the gardeners had seen her that morning, although two of the landscapers were still trying to figure out what to do with the gap that she'd made in one of the hedges while playing with that cursed reindeer when they were chasing …

Anna wasn't in her room. One of the maids was tidying it when Elsa looked in. "Have you seen the Princess this morning?"

"No, your Majesty."

"Hmm." Looking more closely at the room, she asked, "Did you make the bed?"

"No, your Majesty. The Princess must have done it before I arrived."

That, thought the Queen, was about as likely as the sun rising in the west. She fought off a frown.

Elsa walked along the corridor that led to the part of the castle where the guest rooms were located. Currently they had a Bey from somewhere in North Africa (why couldn't she keep those countries straight in her head?), an Italian Archduke and Archduchess, a Polish princess and her cousin (two really lovely girls that Anna had bonded with almost instantly), the Princess of Corona and her Consort, who happened to be a commoner, a fact which delighted Anna (they were an odd couple whose frank manners and plain speech Elsa had found very refreshing), and a very wealthy English Earl … plus all their retinues. It was rather crowded, truth be told.

A few other people, primarily servants of the guests, were bustling up and down the long hall, but then Elsa spotted one of the Polish girls and hurried over to her. "Excuse me! Princess Idina?"

Her face lit up when she recognized Elsa. Rather short and very curvy, the blonde girl's chocolate-brown eyes constantly sparked with a merriment that had drawn Anna in like a vortex. If anyone might know where she was …

"Have you seen my sister today?"

"Oh, yes!" Her French was almost as good as Elsa's. "She was in our rooms earlier." She leaned closer and lowered her voice in conspiratorial glee. "But she had an assignation!"

"… I beg your pardon?"

Clasping her hands together, she breathed, "Oh, it is sooooo romantic! She and her husband-to-be simply cannot _**stand**_ to be apart! She left to meet him in the cellars."

"I see. And when was that, do you think?"

"Oh, at least an hour ago. Is she not the end of all things cute?"

"She's the end of something, all right."

"I think it is so exciting! I hope to meet such a man who will steal my heart." At that she got ever so slightly pensive. "Hopefully before Daddy picks out someone for me."

Elsa patted her arm. "I trust Providence will be on your side in that quest." And then she headed for the stairs.

. . .

. . .

At this time of day hardly anyone frequented the cellars. There were several cask-halls, each with its own door, and consisting of a string of round, domed rooms, each some twelve paces across, connected by short, arched passages. Elsa had only to listen at the doors in turn to find the lovers. She walked in, knowing in advance that they'd be in the farthest reach, where sound was the most muffled. Her sister, she had come to understand, was a screamer.

She made her way back through the first four rooms, wincing slightly at the sounds that were getting ever clearer, and finally stopping in front of a large quilt that had been draped over the entrance to the final room. And there she stood, indecisive. Clearly through the cloth barrier came Anna's harsh breathing, interspersed with the occasional expletive or rapid _"yesyesyes"_, and it harmonized with Kristoff's deep grunts and repeated breathing of her name. Elsa had expected to simply walk in on them as she had done the last time, embarrassing them and monopolizing the moral high ground.

But that didn't happen. As she stood there, swaying slightly, the sounds and the scents of her sister's lovemaking washing over her, a deep roaring welled up from somewhere inside …

Suddenly she was elsewhere.

_The calm seas rolled quietly, gently under the ship as she and her mate embraced in their cabin. His right hand pressed into the small of her back as his left tangled in her loosened hair. The platinum blonde wealth spreading around them, her lips trembled as her small hands took the measure of the ridges and valleys of his chest, his hard abdominal muscles under smooth skin. She gasped as his open mouth left a trail of cool fire from under her ear down her neck to the point of her shoulder and the hollow of her collar bone and lower still …_

With monumental effort, she pulled herself from the vision and fell, gasping, against a nearby barrel. A sheet of ice shot out from where her feet met the floor, quickly covering every surface in the cask-hall.

There was a surprised "Eep!" from the next room … then several seconds of silence … then Anna, wrapped in a large, slightly ice-encrusted shawl (and nothing else) whipped the blanket aside and angrily asked, "Don't you have anything better to do than spy on me?"

Elsa could only gasp over and over as she clung to the barrel. _So real! It had been so real!_ That tightness in her loins she had felt earlier twisted up into a towering, undeniable urge, a force of nature she could in no wise ignore.

"This is the only thing we can do to stay even remotely sane, Elsa!"

The Queen stared at the wall, trying to come to grips with that emotional tempest.

"Are you even _**hearing**_ me?"

In fits and starts, Elsa finally stood straight, and her glazed eyes met Anna's. "My Lord … in Heaven. Is _**that**_ … what you feel? Is _**that**_ … why you can't … stay away from him?"

"… Huh?"

Waving a shaky hand at her sister, Elsa turned and stumbled away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Stopping at the arch, she looked back, her haunted eyes shocking Anna. "P-pl-please forgive me. And please come and see me when you're … finished. No hurry. En-enjoy yourself." And she left.

. . .

. . .

_Elsewhere …_

… _half-lidded eyes of the purest sapphire, hazy with lust …_

… _cool __skin too soft for description trembling under his skilled fingers …_

… _the lush swell of her hip against his palm …_

… _long, pale hair finer than silk bunching around his face, its heady scent filling him, lifting him …_

… _the taste of the tender skin along her neck as he nipped …_

The sudden, hard contact of his face with the floor brought him out of the trance. He blinked, shook his head, shook it again, and pushed himself up on his hands.

_What the hell was that!?_

As he fought off the ghosts of the vision, it took him a minute to realize that he had fallen out of the chair. With some exertion, he climbed to his feet and righted it, then pulled a shaken hand across his brow.

_That was her. That was Queen Elsa. I was … we were …_

"Oh, God. Please, God, no …"

He blushed a deep, deep red as he realized he had attempted a subconscious Dreamwalk.

"What have I done?"

The enormity of his action shamed him. What must Elsa be going through at this moment? She would have no idea from where the images had arisen!

He had to see her. It was no longer optional. To protect both their minds, he would have to meet with her, and talk to her, and explain just who and what he was, what SHE was, and try to teach her how to shield herself from his psyche.

He stumbled to the door, paused to collect his thoughts, turned back when he realized he didn't have his blades, and finally exited his rooms.

. . .

. . .

Anna showed up at Elsa's door some two hours later, her hair wrapped in a towel, and her countenance wrapped in indignation. Silently she walked in past her older sister, found a chair and _flumphed_ down, resolutely _**not**_ looking at Elsa.

The Queen came and stood before her, hands clasped at her waist. "Anna … I truly am sorry for the way I have been … _reacting_ to your liaisons with Kristoff. I never before understood the … depth of feeling … the _**intensity**_ of … of …" She vented a long sigh and knelt at Anna's knee. "I humbly ask your forgiveness. And I promise, on my honor, not to utter another word against it."

Anna had allowed her focus to shift to Elsa's face about halfway through her apology. She blinked deliberately a few times. "What brought that on?"

"… Experience."

Anna's brows drew together. "Experience? What do you mean by that? I thought … I mean, you've never even _**looked**_ at a guy so how could you have …"

Elsa dropped her eyes to the hem of Anna's dress. "I … I, um … felt …" They locked gazes. "I felt what you were feeling."

Anna's face would have made Elsa laugh under other circumstances. Taking her younger sister's hand, she tried to explain. "When I came to stand outside your … chamber … I had every intention of … of embarrassing you again."

"I never _**used**_ to think you had much of a cruel streak in you."

"I'm not sure what it was. Envy, perhaps, though I didn't recognize it."

"Envy? Over Kristoff?"

"Over what you _**have**_ with Kristoff." She re-positioned herself on the floor, crossing her legs and re-forming her ice-dress to suit. "I … don't really know very much about … relationships. I couldn't have one at all while I was hiding my powers, and over the last year I've been so busy just … _**being**_ the Queen, protecting Arendelle … it simply never came up." She raised her gaze to her sister's face. "I don't have even the tiniest clue how to go about … and I never had a reason before, so it wasn't … I mean, not that there's anything solid to work with, but … but if he would just show up again …"

"Whoa." Anna put a finger across Elsa's lips. "You have totally lost me. If _**who**_ would just show up again?"

A light blush crept up the Queen's cheek. "That Andalusian."

"… Wait. … That guy with the really long name?"

"Carlos Diego de la Maria. The other middle names don't really matter much."

"Well." Anna worked that one over and giggled. "You've got a thing for him, huh?"

"I fear it is much more than just a 'thing'."

"How come is that?"

"We … made some kind of connection. I know beyond doubt that he felt it, too."

"Connection? What, exactly?"

"I don't _**know**_, exactly! That's what's been wearing at me ever since he walked out of the Receiving Chamber! But it must have _**something **_to do with … I mean how could it not? Right?"

"Have to do with what?"

"Oh. Right. When you and Kristoff were … busy … you know …"

"When we were 'making the beast with two backs' as you so eloquently put it that last time?"

Elsa's blush deepened. "Yes."

"Technically we weren't. See, I was standing, leaning against the wall, and he was behind me with …"

"Please!" Elsa threw up her hands. "Please, no details. I'm having enough of a problem as it is."

"Problem with what?"

"When you were … together … and I was standing in front of the blanket … I could feel what you were feeling." She placed a hand over her womb. "In here."

Anna was the very picture of puzzlement. "… How?"

"I have no idea. But it spun out into this … this romantic fantasy of some sort … but, Anna, I could _**feel**_ him! I could _**feel**_ his hands in my hair, his lips on my neck and …" She pressed her lips together for a moment. "It was quite overwhelming."

"Kristoff didn't _have_ his hands in my hair. Or his lips on me anywhere. Not at the time. He was too busy with …"

"Anna!"

The Princess gave her a cheeky grin. "Sorry."

"No you aren't."

"You're right. I'm not."

"Well. Whatever. Hand position notwithstanding, I could feel your … urges."

Anna gave a snort. "Urges? You mean that raw, primordial, raging _**lust**_ that Kristoff pulls out of me?"

"Um … sure. We'll go with that. Not a bad description, now that I think of it."

"… Oh. Um, I was being, you know, sarcastic."

"I'm not."

Anna considered her sister for a moment and took her hand. "Huh."

"Precisely. And I have no clue what to do about it." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, sighing deeply. "I greatly fear that if I see him again, I will babble like a fool."

"Sounds like love to me."

"Anna! How can I love someone I've talked with for fifteen minutes?"

"… Okay. Your point. So it's what, infatuation?"

Elsa let her head drop into her hands. "I don't _know_, I don't _know_, I don't _know!_ I don't know _anything_. I've never been in this position before, and I am radically, utterly, finally _**unprepared**_ for it."

Anna found herself in the unusual position of consoling her sister over the question of a man.

. . .

. . .

Juan returned to their rooms at half an hour before noon, hot, tired, and deeply irritated. The lackey at the palace gate had refused to take his card, saying stiffly that the Queen was conducting no audiences until further notice. Juan tried several tactics, since he knew how important it was that Carlos speak with her. But everyone who came to the gate had the same story. Finally he was warned off with the admonition that the Watch would be called if he continued to be a bother.

He threw his hat against the wall and stomped over to the water basin to lave his face. As soon as he'd dried off and hung the towel back up, he spied an envelope leaning up against the end of the ale keg. _Ha! Whoever put it there knew where I'd be going first!_ He snatched up the note and pulled out the missive.

It was in French, the sort of _lingua franca_ of Europe at the time, so he could make it out well enough:

_Her Most Royal Majesty  
Queen Elsa of Arendelle  
requests the pleasure of the  
presence of  
Carlos &amp;c Diego de la Maria  
at the Receiving Room  
at your earliest convenience._

_Please bring this letter as  
proof of your identity._

It was embossed with the royal seal.

Juan lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Why me, God?!"

. . .

. . .

Noon came and went while Carlos stared across the palace walls from his hiding place back up the hill. He'd been there for quite some time, going over his options.

And over them, and over them, and …

There was no apology he could think of that would _at_ _all_ be sufficient for what he had done. He greatly feared that if he went to her and explained what had happened, she'd have him banished.

Maybe if he explained their shared heritage first?

But why would she believe him?

He could demonstrate …

But his powers were different. So very different.

He needed to tell her … to tell her …

What? That he loved her? Again, why would she believe him? They had spoken for a quarter of an hour.

But surely she must have felt …

And again, he asked himself, what reason could he give as an explanation that she would accept? He had betrayed the ultimate trust already by invading her mind. What worse could he ever do?

So he sat and stared, and pondered, and castigated himself, and sank deeper into depression as the day wore into night.

. . .

. . .

_Deep Night …_

The boat was black and low, the few oars muffled. It pulled into the fjord, moving slowly and silently until it passed the Harbormaster's Station. Gliding into the inner lagoon, it found a remote berth and eased up to the landing without a sound. Eight men slipped up and off of it, shirts and pantaloons of dark wool further smudged with lampblack, as were their faces and the rags tied 'round their heads. They pulled a stopper from the bottom of the boat, and made sure it was fully sunk before melting into the darkness.

. . .

. . .


	8. Detonation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 7: Detonation**

* * *

_He had certainly not expected to be protecting her from **himself**._

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Saturday 24 July 1841, 12:30am_

Sunset was a distant memory when Carlos's growling stomach finally insisted that he seek some kind of nourishment. He unlimbered his lanky frame from its hidey-hole in the city wall, muscles suffering no apparent pain or stiffness from the lengthy vigil, gazed about briefly, and made his way down to the nearest open tavern. Though he had not come to any conclusions about what he should do vis-à-vis his spiritual debt to the Queen, he _had_ made up his mind in one direction: he was going to _**eliminate**_ the criminal element from Arendelle. And he was of just such a mindset as to make him not care about such niceties as whether or not they got a sporting chance.

Once he had gotten on the outside of a nice joint of beef and a few steins of dark ale, he strode out into the main east-west boulevard and called up a view of the astral plane. It wasn't difficult to locate the nearest gang of robbers, and he headed off in that direction, lips drawn into a thin grimace of determination.

. . .

. . .

_1:20am_

One of his Lieutenants knocked on the door of Watch Captain Jørgen Fjelstad's sleeping quarters. The Captain had a home – a fairly nice one, actually – situated on the northern edge of the city, but given the vigilante situation of late, he'd decided to sleep in the Watch House tonight. He would shortly wonder why he bothered with the 'sleep' part.

Sitting up and coming awake in seconds, he called, "Enter."

"Cap? Two patrols just reported in. Got more dead crooks."

"… Dead … right. How many?"

"Eighteen and counting."

"… What do you mean by 'and counting'?"

"Got one report from Heife Merkentz about bodies behind his shop, and another from somebody in Farrier's Way, but don't have the Watch reports back yet."

_*groan*_ "Very well. I'll be right there." The vigilante (Jørgen hadn't come up with a name for him yet) had been quiet for … he squinted at the clock … some thirty-two hours. He knew it was too good to last.

The two reports in question – and two more – came in by the time a quarter-hour had passed. Jørgen read through the lists again, tallying the count. "So. Fifty-one. And it's the same man."

"The wounds are consistent, sir."

"Yes." A tired sigh accompanied a few rubs to his eyes. "Yes, well." He looked at his map, tracing out the latest batch to see if there was a pattern, and got a chill. "Frid … look at this. Does it look to you like he's working his way toward the palace?"

"… He might be at that, sir."

"Gather what patrols you can find. We'll convene at the gates."

. . .

. . .

Adolf Asplund hadn't become the most successful thief in northern Germany by making stupid mistakes, and he had no intention of taking up the practice now just because every other robber in Arendelle was scared shitless. He had gathered the vicious gangs under his control, some thirty footpads and cutthroats all told, and secreted them away in a small warehouse he had rented. The rental agreement was one hundred percent legitimate, save for the name on the contract, but since he had ponied up the gold in advance, the owner wasn't that interested in such details.

This particular warehouse had seemed perfect to him largely due to the fact that it only had two small windows, and they were both two man-heights off the floor. It was situated near the docks, but placed so that it would be quite difficult for anyone to get a look inside. He'd been very pleased with himself over this acquisition, since it meant that he and his men could meet whenever they felt like it to plan their next series of robberies, and no one would be the wiser. A wide double door opened onto the street, but there was also a small man-door on the other side, placed, he assumed, as a fire escape. It was ideal for clandestine comings and goings.

These were characteristics of the building that he would soon regret.

The men were gathered in small groups, some playing at casino or ombre, some tossing dice, and a few just trying to stay drunk. Small amounts of money changed hands frequently. If someone got too loud or belligerent, Adolf was as likely as not to sap him, so the men tended to keep it quiet. They also didn't want to attract the attention of Death Shadow, as the crooks had taken to calling the vigilante that had so drastically reduced their ranks in recent days. No matter how good the pickings were, you couldn't spend the money if you were dead.

From where he sat near the small door, Adolf caught a heavy whiff of the chamber pot they had to use (the warehouse had no facilities). He stood and moved to the middle, then said, just loud enough to be heard, "Slop call."

Everyone looked at him and grumbled. Nobody enjoyed the duty of emptying the chamber pot, especially given that they would let it get dangerously full before doing anything about it. But everyone had a number, and Adolf had a bag of numbered pebbles. He nodded toward a large man nursing a bottle of _akvavit_. "Gunnar, you pick." And he held out the bag.

Silently, Gunnar reached into the bag and withdrew a stone, then squinted at it in the low lamplight. Heaving a disgusted sigh, he threw it back into the bag and stomped off toward the pot, most of the other men laughing at his expense. But a few seconds later, he called over his shoulder, "Hey, the door's stuck."

Adolf frowned. He knew the door was, if anything, too loose in its frame. It didn't even have a key, just a drop-bar on the inside. "What do you mean 'stuck'?"

Gunnar pushed and jiggled on the door. "It won't … huh … feels like there's a … chain across it.

The other men started chattering. Some drew their weapons. Two of them ran over to the double door, but found it just as stubbornly shut as the small one.

Suddenly sweating, Adolf pulled out his pistols. "This way! Over here! Stay together!"

_[[ … that … won't … help you …]]_

The sibilant voice sounded in everyone's head, and was followed by dead silence as they all strained to see from whence it came, hearts beating like hopped-up drummers. Then, one by one, the lamps went out, and the men started gibbering in fear. With only the faintest moonlight filtering in through the filthy glass in the two high windows, none of them could see a hand in front of his face. There was a _creeeeeak_ as one of the windows opened. Adolf blasted both pistols at it.

Then _**something**_ was in the room with them. The screaming went on for better than a minute.

It would be almost half an hour before the Watch, alerted to the situation by a nearby householder who had heard the commotion, got the chains off the door and discovered the mass of bodies.

. . .

. . .

_3:00am_

Normally the public grounds in front of the palace were deserted at this hour. As an _hotelier_ in France had once grumped at him, it was time for decent folks to be in bed and tramps a-traveling. That, however, was not the case. Fully a dozen of the Watch were posted before the castle gate and along the bridge, and kept a keen eye out for … something. Carlos didn't know who or what.

Nor did he care. There were very few things at this point that he _**did**_ care about, unless they were associated with his current quest. He had come to Arendelle to protect the Queen from nefarious plots by evil men based in foreign lands. He had certainly _not_ expected to be protecting her from _**himself**_.

His latest effort at cleansing the city of imported criminals had netted his blades another one hundred forty-eight souls. Over the last hour, though, word had somehow spread and they were leaving. He could feel the exodus in his spirit, as if an evil miasma were being blown off a field, and he tried to feel good about it. But that didn't solve his problem.

He had to see Elsa. Had to speak with her. Had to explain, and hope he could get through what she needed to know before she turned from him in disgust and banished him from Arendelle forever.

And 'Forever', as he knew better than most, was a long, long time.

Currently he slouched against the cool stone of the bridge, arms crossed, contemplating the large edifice on the other side of the wall. She was in there somewhere. The palace was very beautiful, built more for its ornate style than for any real military purpose. Oh, the walls were thick and sturdy enough so that it would make a decent temporary redoubt for the citizens if the city came under attack, but he could see at a glance that it wouldn't be much use in a siege.

One of the Watch marched past, not an armspan away, but failed to notice him for all that. This was not accidental. Carlos could make himself very unnoticeable if he felt like it. Not that he was invisible, just … uninteresting. _Completely_ uninteresting.

He called up the astral plane again, just letting the silvery landscape settle in his mind's eye, watching as more and more of the gangs began traveling. He didn't want to seek her out this way. He knew she would be able to detect him if she were awake, and he would probably give her nightmares if she were asleep. So he didn't …

_What the hell was that?_

Four entities of concentrated evil, moving quickly along inside the wall, their maleficent intentions plain to Carlos's mind. He sprang toward their mental signature at a dead run – a much faster speed than should be humanly possible. This caused him to shed his aura of disinterest and suddenly half a dozen men were yelling at him.

"Call the rest of the Watch!" he answered as he dodged among them. "Get them all here as fast as you can!" Racing past the last Watchman, he closed in on the wall.

This stone bastion would have presented an insurmountable obstacle to anyone else (that _**was**_ its purpose) but Carlos turned his sprint into upward motion. Left foot on top of the wide railing, right foot on top of the near window, fingertips on a narrow ledge, and he gained the top. The men chasing him just stared for a few seconds, their jaws hanging open, until the Corporal ordered two of them back to the Watch Station. The others then frantically worked to unlock the gate.

The moon would be full for the wedding in just over a week, so the waxing gibbous shed plenty of light on this clear night. The interlopers had already gained the lower roof, headed for an open upper-floor window. Carlos could see in an instant the path they had taken and followed them at speed, a huge manic squirrel swarming up the side of the palace.

He gained the window and raced down the passage to the left, following their spoor. Now that they were inside, they were moving more slowly, and …

A guard, stuffed into a cubby behind a suit of armor, and with his throat slit, stared sightlessly at Carlos. He narrowed his eyes and ran faster, steady breaths coming easily between slightly-parted lips even as he nearly ricocheted off the corners.

A staircase down … another hall … around a bend …

The foursome was maybe fifteen paces down the way, in front of a door, blotches of irregular black against the dim light coming through the stained glass. One guard lay dead and another was gasping out his life on the floor. One of the assassins knelt in front of the door, preparing to force something under it. Carlos's heaviest throwing knife thudded to the hilt in his temple. Then the other three turned toward him and drew various weapons, and It Was On.

Rarely had the Spaniard faced an opponent who was nearly his equal, much less three, and he might have found himself hard pressed save for two facts: he was a great deal faster than any of them, and a _**very**_ great deal stronger. And they didn't know that.

He ducked under a small, spinning thing of sharp edges, leaped over a blade-tipped chain, and met the first assassin sword to sword. The man tried a quick triple-thrust maneuver, but Carlos recognized it instantly and was able to parry it halfway through, surprising his opponent, who fumbled the recovery and had to step back to reposition his grip. That fraction of a second was all Carlos needed. Lengthening his reach, his blade ripped across the man's groin, blood spraying from the severed femoral artery. He collapsed with a groan, and Carlos leaped over him.

The remaining two used teamwork, and it was a frantic few seconds of singing blades and grunted curses before Carlos was able to surprise the one on the left with a maneuver that seemed to leave his side vulnerable. A wickedly curved blade darted in, but as the assassin's left-hand weapon was still in the process of recovering from his last strike, his head was very briefly unguarded. Carlos's sword reversed direction with impossible speed, and the man's skull was cleft to the teeth.

But then Carlos took a tiny fraction of a second too long to free his sword, and the final assassin's blade scored a long stripe down his arm. The cut immediately began to burn fiercely. Carlos grit his teeth and fought on, wondering whether it was acid or poison on the blade.

At that moment the door they'd been in front of opened, and Elsa emerged. Carlos, near panic, yelled, "Get back inside!"

The assassin disengaged and flipped toward the Queen, who stood in shock at the carnage filling the hall. A small dagger zinged back at Carlos, who didn't quite manage to dodge. It lodged in the fleshy part of his upper left arm, and this time the pain was quite indescribable. He went to his knees, his vision blurring.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the assassin, arm back to throw some small object at Elsa …

. . .

. . .


	9. Obstruction

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 8: Obstruction**

* * *

_She worried all the time. She had lots of practice. She was good at it._

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Sunday 25 July 1841, 10:50pm_

Surrounding him, the water was a murky brown.

Cloaking him, it dulled the senses.

Muddy waters.

_Or is it the air?_

No matter.

He swam (flew?) upward.

A dim, dim spark.

_A star?_

No, a candle, flame wavering, shadow-ghosts smudging the wall behind it.

Vision comes and goes.

The brown returns.

Motion.

Pain.

_My arm?_

A noise, a clicking.

Blink … eyes are supposed to blink.

Great effort to pull the eyelids down, then let them spring back.

Dry.

So dry.

_Why are my eyes so dry?_

"Captain …"

A voice, not his own.

_Who is in my head?_

The voice again.

Pain. So sharp. So raw.

A flickering knife.

Pain. Yes. Pain in the knife.

Understanding grew.

_Sleep._

_Heal._

_Heal now._

_Blink._

_Blink and hold._

This time the eyelids stayed shut.

. . .

. . .

"I don't know, Cap. He mumbled something about mud and a knife, and then …"

"No, Frid, it was _blood_ and a knife!"

"You were across the room."

"And my ears are better than yours."

"You wish."

"Gentlemen!" Jørgen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Can we agree on 'mumbled something about a knife, and then _**that's **_when the red light came on'?"

"… Yes, sir."

"Thank you." He looked back over at the man on the cot whom the Queen had decided needed the best room in the palace infirmary.

The scene in the Queen's hallway when he and his men had arrived was, to say the least, chaotic. Three dead assassins and one encased in ice to his neck, one wounded and unconscious Spanish hidalgo … and one _exceedingly_ pissed-off Queen. She had fussed over the Spaniard – who, she informed him, went by Carlos Diego de la Maria, and so he would do well not to call him 'the Spaniard' – before, during, and after he was attended to by the palace physician.

At first, having sniffed the poison on the blade taken from Carlos's arm, the doctor had not been at all sanguine about his survival. He wouldn't last another hour. That turned into 'he won't last the night', which turned into 'how in God's name is he not dead?' The wounds were ugly, red and streaky, but though they didn't seem to improve, they never got any worse either.

The Watch Captain had the fourth assassin carried to the dungeon still encased in ice. He had strong suspicions of how dangerous the man could be, and wanted all the advantages on his side. So they placed him in a cell (just three down from Hans) and waited until he was semi-conscious from hypothermia before breaking off the shell. Then he was quickly stripped, and locked, naked and shivering, into the pillory.

"Get a warm blanket and drape it over him."

"Sir?"

"I have a lot of questions for that son of a bitch, and I don't want him dying before we can pry any information out of him."

"Oh. Yes, sir!"

At first, Jørgen was a lot more interested in the assassins than in the fellow who had fought them (the nature of the fight, at least, was obvious from the lay of the crime scene and Elsa's own recounting of events) because he thought he recognized their outfits. It had been too dark in the dungeon to really examine the living one, but once they had stripped another of them of his shirts and gotten a good look at the man's tattoos, he was sure: they were members of an infamous Russian assassins' guild. That really made him sit up and think. He knew of that guild (a lot of people did) and knew their reputation. They were terribly expensive even under the most mundane of contracts because they always carried out the terms. Always. To get to a head of state, they would only have sent their best, and their 'best' would be good enough to get out of just about any set of circumstances they found themselves in. They were the undisputed masters of their craft.

And this de la Maria fellow had killed three of them. By himself.

At that realization, he had the Span- um, Señor de la Maria's blades brought to him. A brief examination showed them to be consistent with the damage done to well over two hundred criminals in the last few days. Grimly he nodded to himself. That explained a lot. If the Sp- damn it, _de la Maria_ was skilled enough to better than hold his own against the world's best killers, wiping up common crooks would be something he could do without breaking a sweat.

And then there was that story the guards at the gate had told. Apparently the exalted Señor had appeared on the Bridge from thin air, taken a running start, and basically _**jumped**_ over the high wall. It was six man-heights from the top of the stone railing to the edge of the parapet. He'd gone over in a couple of seconds with no obvious strain, then tracked the assassins to the Queen's bedroom door, and then killed three fourths of them.

That gave Jørgen quite a lot to chew on, and chew he had. Many, many cups of strong, chocolate-laced coffee later, he was no nearer a 'final answer' than he had been at the start.

What was de la Maria doing here? How'd he know about the assassins?

Why was a Russian murder syndicate trying to kill the Queen? Who had hired them? They certainly didn't work for free.

How was de la Maria even _**capable**_ of the things he obviously had done? It shouldn't be possible.

And finally, now, why in the name of all that was Holy was he _glowing?_ It wasn't as if the people of Arendelle weren't acquainted with magic, but the trolls and their Queen constituted all of it to date. This fellow? He was definitely out of the box.

Jørgen stepped into the next room and looked down at the sleeping form on the small bed. Elsa had not been ten paces from de la Maria since the fight, and suggesting otherwise had brought such a feral and protective light into her eyes that Jørgen hadn't broached the subject again. If she would rather rest on this hard cot than on her plump feather mattress, he wasn't going to argue.

"Sir?"

He looked up at the page who had just stepped into the infirmary. "Yes?"

"Message for you, Captain." He held out an envelope.

"Thanks." Unfolding the paper, he scanned the short message, one eyebrow climbing dangerously close to his thinning hairline. "Huh. Very well. I'll see to it."

"Very good, sir." The page scampered off, and Jørgen strode purposefully back to the Watch Tower. Fortunately, it was a relatively short walk.

Sergeant Olin met him at the door. "Sir! Thanks for coming so quickly."

"Let's see what you've got."

Inside, the Sergeant showed him eighteen sacks of various sizes, three boxes and a large trunk, all full of stolen goods. "Looks like a lot of them just left most of their stuff and ran. We stopped four groups that didn't have anything heavier than a dagger on 'em, an' only as much loot as would fit in a small pocket."

The Captain's head was beginning to hurt. The paperwork to sort out this mess was going to be a nightmare. "Where did all this come from?"

"Well … hang on." Olin fetched a sheet filled with scribbles. "All right … yeah, the trunk was in that locked warehouse …"

"With the thirty bodies?"

"Right. And … five of the sacks. Whoever killed 'em didn't even open any of the sacks, much less the trunk. We had to break off the lock."

"… And the rest?"

"Um … two? Yeah, two of the boxes and … four … seven … nine … right, nine sacks came off the boats we stopped."

Jørgen untied the nearest sack and pawed through it. Mostly coins, mostly kroner … several rings, a decent-sized emerald brooch … somebody will definitely be glad to get _**that**_ back … a gold fountain pen …"

"Sir?"

Sighing heavily, the Captain tied it back tight. "Yes?"

"Do you recall some two weeks ago, when things were getting really, um …"

"Tense?"

"Yes, sir. Several robberies each day."

"I do."

"You asked us to take a tally of what had been stolen."

He frowned, considering that. "Yes, I believe I did. The Lieutenant didn't think that was practical." At the time, Jørgen had thought his Lieutenant had an insufficient view of the size of the problem, but he had enough other problems that he'd just let it slide.

Olin shrugged. "Practical or not, we got a list when we could." He pulled a small case out of a shelf. "I've been keeping them here. I think we can start with what's in these lists. That will certainly narrow it down."

Incredulously, Jørgen extracted one of the lists and read it. "Hmm. Pretty good descriptions. Yes, this ought to help a lot." He gave the Sergeant a tired smile. "Good work. Maybe _**you'd**_ make a better Lieutenant than the _**Lieutenant**_."

That seemed to surprise the man. "Um … thank you, sir. One tries."

. . .

. . .

Elsa was a worrier. Always had been, and unless some things changed pretty significantly, she probably always would be. She worried about controlling (read: suppressing) her powers for thirteen years. Since then she's worried about being a good leader for her country, making sure she never misuses her powers, her sister's relationship with Kristoff, her lack of a relationship with anybody, which countries might pose a threat, how other national leaders view her, and on and on and on. She worried all the time. She had lots of practice. She was good at it.

So worrying about Carlos was a piece of cake. She could even do it in her sleep. Literally.

_. . . . . . . Her dream-form, decked out in a truly stunning ice-dress that shimmered with every color in the spectrum, stood beside Carlos's bed. She laid a gentle hand on his fevered brow …_

_Except it was no longer fevered. In fact, the wounds appeared to be shrinking, even as she watched. His eyes opened, then met hers._

_They both smiled . . . . . . ._

She startled awake, at first unsure of just where she was, then recognized the wall full of medical supplies. Swinging her legs off the cot, she stepped quickly into the next room.

His eyes were open. Not the glassy, sightless, bug-eyed appearance he had previously exhibited that scared the living crap out of her, but a conscious, aware gaze that met hers frankly.

"Hello."

She took two steps toward him and paused, clasping her hands in front of her waist in that habit she had when she was nervous and didn't know what else to do. "Hello."

"I'm very, very glad to see that you are unharmed."

"And I'm very glad to see that you are not dead."

"That _**would**_ have made this conversation awkward."

She dimpled just the slightest bit. "Doubtless." Then she cocked her head and studied him for a moment. "You aren't glowing."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"Earlier … you were glowing … a sort of red color."

He blushed and looked away. "Oh. You saw that."

"Yes. What was it?"

"A healing aura." His eyes flicked back to hers. "I can teach you if you like."

She paused in confusion for a few seconds. "Bu- … teach? … I'm sorry, what?"

Experimentally he moved his shoulder around, checking for pain. Finding none, he nodded and sat up, then massaged the previously-injured area. "Nice to know the powers still work."

"… Powers?"

He stood and then bowed. "My Queen. We did not … um, get very far in our first meeting."

"You might say that."

"Please allow me to explicate the reasons for my being in Arendelle."

The door creaked open slightly and Jørgen stepped in. "I wouldn't mind hearing those reasons myself."

Elsa jumped at the unexpected entrance.

Carlos had heard him coming. "I will do so if that is my Queen's wish."

Elsa looked between the two men for a few seconds and then nodded. "I believe it would be wise for Jørgen to be there. I would need to pass much of it along to him in any case, don't you think?"

"You must keep your own counsel in that regard, my Queen. I have no objection, though the tale may be rather … long. Long and somewhat incredible."

Shifting her gaze back to the Captain, she noted his rather ragged appearance. "You've not been sleeping well, have you?"

"No more than Your Majesty. Circumstances have prevented."

"That they have." She gave a decisive nod. "We shall begin your tale after breakfast, Señor de la Maria."

"Shall I return to my rooms or …"

"I believe it would be best for all concerned if you stayed here," interrupted Jørgen, just beating Elsa to the punch. "I have a keen interest in finding out how you survived that poison."

"Very well."

"Oh … and I believe these are yours." The Captain withdrew Carlos's twin dirks from his jerkin and passed them over.

The hidalgo gave the other man a bemused look. "You are very trusting with the life of your Queen, giving me these."

"Having had a few demonstrations of your skills, I feel quite sure, Señor, that if you had wanted any of us dead, we would already be cold."

Carlos suppressed a snort. "You flatter me."

"Where puissance in arms is concerned, I hardly think that possible. And apart from that fact, it seems to me that you have the _preservation_ of the Queen's life foremost in your thoughts, as opposed to her harm."

"That is true." Having inspected his blades, Carlos stored them out of sight and crossed his wrists behind his back. "Well, then. Lead on, and I shall follow." He pulled up short and then said, "Oh, I should also like to have my liege man up here with me, if that is allowed. I feel sure that he is worried about me."

"I have no issue with that. Elsa?"

She, who hadn't taken her eyes off Carlos at all during the conversation, gave her head a shake. "That would be fine. I'll send someone to go and get him."

. . .

. . .

To Carlos's manifest displeasure, the Watchman who went to fetch Juan was up on all the latest gossip, and just dying to share. So by the time the liege-man got into the palace and met up with his master, he was _beyond_ incensed.

"Can't let you out of my sight for an hour! What if they'd had bombs?"

"They _**had**_ bombs. Or, well, bomb. I think there was just the one."

Juan threw his hands up and paced around in circles. "You couldn't swing by to get me, yeah, I understand. It was too far. But couldn't you have taken a couple of the other guards with you? Going solo against assassins? _**Those**_ assassins? You know they use poisoned blades! Did you bet your brain in a game of dice and lose?"

"The Watch couldn't have kept up with me. You know that." Carlos was maintaining a calm exterior, waiting for his gray-bearded friend to run out of steam. "Besides, they killed all the other guards they ran into. What makes you think a couple of the Watch would have fared any better?"

Juan lapsed into low grumbling. Carlos clapped him on the back. "You worry too much. I know you decided that was your job a long time ago, but you take it too seriously."

"They _cut_ you, didn't they?"

"I _fixed_ it, didn't I?"

"You can't heal yourself if your head's unattached, and you only had the chance because the Queen froze one of them."

"Yeah." Carlos's gaze faded to a middle-distance somewhere. "She did do that, didn't she? She's really something else."

Juan snorted, "You're whipped."

"Don't care."

"She's got you so tight around her little finger …"

"She's got me tight, period."

"… Did _**not**_ need to know that."

Carlos heaved a bit of a sigh. "I still have to tell her about the Dreamwalking."

"… What _about_ Dreamwalking?"

"Oh." Carlos gave him a sober stare. "That's right, you don't know."

"So you tried a Dreamwalk after all?"

"I didn't 'try' anything. It just happened. I was sitting in that chair by the window and I suppose I zoned out. Next thing I knew I was in such a … it was … it was so _**intense!**_ I ended up on the floor."

"And you're sure she …"

"Dead sure. She was there." Half his face smiled as he shook his head. "Was she ever."

At that moment the palace clock began to strike midnight. They looked at each other and Carlos shrugged. "Guess I'll try damming those rapids when I hit 'em. At least she's favorably disposed toward me, since I kept the assassins from getting to her. Maybe that will make up for it? A little?" He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of both hands and moved over to the wash basin. "Right now, I'm very tired. Healing takes a lot of energy, and there is a distressing paucity of ley lines around Arendelle. Sleep will have to do instead."

"Understood."

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1841, 8:30am_

One of Elsa's guards met Carlos at his door and guided him to breakfast. The meal took place in a smaller room, not too far from the kitchens. The interested parties wanted an atmosphere where they didn't have to shout at each other from the far ends of the long table.

Elsa hadn't slept well (understatement: she'd hardly slept, period) and had made list after mental list of the things she wanted to ask Señor de la Maria. They all tended to jumble together, and the closer the time for breakfast approached, the more harried and unsure of herself she felt.

Jørgen had a peaceful night for a change, and was eager to get to the meat of the issue.

Carlos just wanted to see Elsa. He could hardly think of anything else.

The guard stopped at the door and pushed it open to allow Carlos to enter first. He hadn't taken three steps into the room when a slight girl with strawberry-blond braids glomped him. "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou_**so**__much!_ You_saved_my_sister_ and itwasjust_totally_awesome and someofthe_guards_toldme aboutthe_assassins_ 'cause they're_really_dangerous and goodatwhattheydo and Idon't_**even**_knowhowyou_managed_it and we_**all**_thinkyou'recool and thankyou_so__**much**_forsavingElsa!"

That tirade spilled out of the girl in under eight seconds, which gave Carlos just enough time to regain his composure. He gave her a quick squeeze and then broke her clutch. "You are welcome. It was my honor."

"Anna?"

The girl turned back to the Queen, who Carlos now saw sat opposite him at an octagonal table. Her hair was down, lying across her left shoulder in a thick braid. It made quite a statement … enough of one that it was several seconds before he noticed Jørgen sitting just to her left.

"Anna," she said, her eyes never wavering from Carlos's, "I feel sure Señor de la Maria would like some breakfast. You may hug him later if you must."

She blushed prettily and skipped back over to the table. "Sorry, Elsa." Turning shining eyes back to Carlos, she appended, "But it really was cool. You know, what you did."

He bowed to her, then to Jørgen, and lastly, low and with flourishes, to the Queen. "Well met."

She indicated the chair nearest him. "Please have a seat."

They started with a variety of fresh and candied fruit paired with light pastries. "So, Señor de la Maria…" began Elsa.

"Please, call me Carlos."

She fought down a blush. "Very well … Carlos … ah, yesterday you … made mention of a healing aura."

"Yes. I use it to accelerate the repairs my body undergoes when I am wounded, or, in this case, poisoned."

"I'd be interested," opined Jørgen, "to know if I can learn it, too."

Carlos shook his head. "Sadly, no. It is an innate magical ability."

"But … but you said you could teach _**me**_," Elsa said, worriedly. "Was that …"

"That is because we are … similar."

"… How so?"

He laid his fork down and laced his fingers together under his chin. "I did mention that the tale would be long, I believe."

"You did."

"So." He sat back and sought her gaze. "Does any of you know the legend of the seventh son of a seventh son?"

Jørgen cleared his throat. "Um … supposedly such a person has some sort of affinity for magic?"

"That is one popular theory. But if you have met such a man – and I have, several times – you may understand that he is no more inclined to magic than any other random person."

"So how does …"

"The legend is worded incorrectly." His piercing eyes flicked between the sisters a few times. "Tell me … how much do you know about your mother's grandmother's grandmother's grandmother?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It isn't the seventh son of a seventh son. It's the seventh uninterrupted _generation_ of sons … or daughters."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "Uninterrupted? From what?"

"From involvement with the Fey."

Both women got a chill. "The Elves?" said Elsa. "The Wee Folk?" asked Anna.

"I wouldn't call them by that name; they might take offense to being depicted as harmless. The Fey are wild and unpredictable and insanely powerful, and it typically behooves mortals to leave them well alone. But sometimes … sometimes one of the Court will love a human. In my case, as well as I've been able to track it back … well, let me put it this way . . . . . . .

_. . . . . . . Once upon a time there lived in the village of Queralbs, high in the Pyrenees Mountains, a valiant knight. He had fought bravely in many battles, but due to grievous wounds he was no longer able to take the field of honor. So he retired to a quiet life, keeping a cottage in a large garden at the edge of town, and telling stories to the children who came to visit (and sneak the occasional pear from his trees)._

_It happened one day during the harsh winter of 1428 that the Spirits of Earth grew angry, and made the land shake so that most of the buildings in his village and in many others around fell to pieces. But his cottage was small, and made of cob, and so it rode out the earthquake, and he took no harm. Very soon, although his leg was stiff where a spear thrust years ago had damaged his hip, he set out in the deep snow to see how his neighbors had fared, and how he could help._

_He came upon many crushed homes, and many who had died or were dying, and he wept with sorrow over the destruction of his village. But he kept looking. By and by, he thought he heard the thin wail of an infant, and urged his stiff leg on through the cold, searching and searching until he discovered where the babe was secreted. To his amazement, the child was as brown as a nut, with eyes and hair of the truest green, and he knew her to be one of the __**dianae**__, the Fey of that region. Carefully wrapping her in soft blankets, he made his way back home._

_He named her Diana and cared for the babe through that winter, finding through many frustrating trials what she could or would eat, and how best to keep her happy. But this task was not without peril, for it seemed that Nature would conspire from time to time to harm the child. Once an avalanche chased him down his mountain, and it was only through heroic exertion that he saved them both alive. Another time a sudden storm threatened to wash them away, and he had to swim as no man had swum before to rescue her from the torrent. Yet again did a clever Ermine find a way inside the cottage, and made to eat the child, but the knight smote it and caught the babe alive from its mouth._

_One day in early spring he had need to travel to another village to purchase leather, so he rigged a satchel to carry Diana and set off with his sword and his trusty staff. It happened that as he was passing through a wild area, a pack of wolves got his scent and began to follow. He made haste, but his old injuries meant that he could not run quickly, and soon the wolves were upon him. He fought them bravely, keeping the child safe, and managed to climb a gnarled oak, where they could not reach him. Then the eldest wolf came and growled to him, "Give us the child, and you may go free."_

_You many imagine his wonder at hearing a wolf speak, but he stubbornly refused the beast's offer. "I will not imperil my immortal soul over such a small thing as my life, and if you want this child, you will have to kill me first!"_

_Then the wolf stood up on its hind legs and assumed the form of a maiden full fair, and dressed in white and gold. "In sooth, that is what I had foretold you would say." Then the other wolves became youths and maidens and began to dance around the tree._

_The knight realized that he was in the presence of the Fey, and clambered down out of the tree. "Forgive me for not recognizing you!"_

"_Oh, indeed, it was done to test you. When I realized you had found my sister, I set myself to prove your worth, and you have heeded so well to your Knightly code of honor that you have won my heart." She held out her hand to the knight. "If you would so swear, Sir Knight, I would become your wife."_

_Glad he was of such a good match, and the banns were soon published. He lived a long and happy life with his Faerie wife, and she bore him sons and daughters. . . . . ._

"And that knight," concluded Carlos, "was my father, seven times removed. His son sired a son, and so on, until the seventh generation, when I was firstborn of my family." He leaned toward Elsa. "I would quite comfortably wager my life that your mother-seven-times-removed was mated with a Faerie, or was one herself."

Anna and Elsa stared at him and then at each other, shocked into silence. Jørgen interjected, "But how can you know that?"

"Simple. There are three kinds of magic in our world: Divine Magic, gifted by God through the Saints; Profane Magic, supported by demons and practiced by sorcerers; and Innate Magic, such as the Fey have." Pointing at Elsa, he continued, "There are hundreds of different stories about you currently circulating in Europe and Africa, but one thing most of them have in common is that you were born with your gift. That's also what I was told here, several times."

"It … It's true. I was. But … but why would that mean …"

"If it were Divine Magic, you would know. Profane Magic may only be bargained for, and a babe cannot do that. That only leaves Innate Magic. You are one of the Fey-touched."

Elsa nibbled her lower lip (from which Carlos had to tear his eyes by sheer force of will) and asked, "So … what else does that entail? Do you have ice powers, too?"

He shook his head. "I do not. It is different for each of us."

"Oh. So there are more of … us?"

"Eh, only a few. It is rare for seven generations to cleave to one sex or the other, and rarer still for the Fey to mate with a human. I have only met two others in my travels, and only one of them had met another. And she was old. Very, very old."

Jørgen observed, "You don't appear old enough, yourself, to have done all that much traveling. I'd peg you at somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. How'd you meet these other … Fey-touched?"

"Ah, well," he answered with a fleeting smile. "Appearances, as they say, can be deceiving. That is another aspect of Faerie lineage that I uncovered over time."

"What is?" Elsa wanted to know.

"Agelessness."

Queen Elsa wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. "When you said that other … Fey-touched that you met was 'old' … what, exactly, does that mean?"

"She had lost count somewhere beyond a thousand. But the tribes nearby swore she had been the island's Wise Woman for at least forty generations."

Jørgen gave him a keen stare. Anna gasped. Elsa grew pale. She cleared her throat. "And … then, how … how old are you?"

"I was born on the Mediterranean coast in Carthagena in the fall of 1584." He let them absorb that for a few seconds, and followed up with, "I will be two hundred and fifty-seven years old in a few months."

. . .

. . .


	10. Explanation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 9: Explanation**

* * *

_I would recommend continued vigilance._

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1841, 8:55am_

The three stared at Carlos for a few seconds before Jørgen declared, "I'm calling bullshit on that."

"Jørgen!" objected Elsa. "Language!"

"Sorry, Your Majesty."

The Spaniard shrugged. "If that is your wish. You wanted to know my age and I told you." He speared a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.

Anna piped up, "So what do you do? I mean, Elsa could frost her crib practically from birth and make snow when she was barely a year old. If you don't do ice …"

He swallowed, took a sip of the thin wine they'd been served, and said, "Fire."

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Fire."

"Yes."

"In what way?"

"I can produce it and direct it at will. I can make it hot enough to fuse sand into glass, or large enough to immolate a small valley." Half his face grinned ruefully. "What I _can't_ do is keep it from burning my clothes off."

Practically in unison, Anna and Elsa colored and glanced away.

"I'd like to see some proof," said the Captain.

"Very well. I will be happy to give you a larger demonstration later, when we are no longer in mixed company, but if I concentrate and keep the flame very small …" He held out a hand and frowned, whereupon a small, yellow-white flicker appeared in his palm. "I understand," he said tightly, watching the flame closely, "that you, my Queen, are unaffected by cold."

Elsa stared at the flame, entranced. "… Yes. That is so." She could _feel_ the magic flowing through him, wild and fierce, and the thought that bubbled up was, _I'm __**not**__ alone!_

"Neither does heat bother me." He carefully tended the fire, allowing it to float up a handspan above his palm and making it into a ball. "But the fire wants to get away from me. It wants freedom _so badly_, and I have to fight it."

Elsa nodded. "I understand. So well do I understand that feeling."

Carlos clenched his fist and the light went out, a puff of smoke wafting upward.

Anna said, "Elsa!"

That startled her. "What?"

"Make a snowball!"

"… Um."

"Please! Just make one."

Elsa did, and had it hover in front of her over the table. "Okay. What now?"

"Now, Mister … de …"

"Carlos."

"Right, yeah. Carlos, make your fire again."

He sighed and concentrated once more, and soon the ball of flame danced above his hand.

"Okay, Elsa, put the snowball on the fire."

"… What for?"

"I wanna see what the combination does."

"It will make a large quantity of steam," replied Carlos, grinning a little. "I have used my flame on snow before."

"But you haven't used it on hers." She tossed a dried fig into her mouth and looked back and forth between them, eyes sparkling as she chewed.

The two of them blinked at her, both of them considering …

The snowball lofted over and intersected the ball of flame.

The resulting silent detonation of pure light left Jørgen and the Princess blinking purple spots from their eyes.

Anna jumped up anyway, clapping. "Wheeeeeeee! That was great!"

Elsa and Carlos were both shuddering in their seats, eyes and mouths wide open.

_**The Rush …**_

_**The Ecstasy …**_

_**The Release …**_

They were audibly panting, and as soon as she noticed, Anna placed a worried hand on her sister's arm. "Hey, you okay?"

The Queen recovered first and turned to her. "… Anna …" She had to swallow a couple of times and refocus her eyes. "Anna. How did you know …"

"I didn't. I just wanted to see what happened when two different magicks went criss-cross."

Carlos was having a great deal of trouble regaining his balance. Hamaraja's prophecy came to him again: _"One day you will meet a woman who is your equal in every way. A thousand-thousand souls will thrive or perish depending on how you react and what you do."_

"Sir?" inquired the Captain, "are you well?"

"… I never … felt … anything like that …" He was afraid to meet Elsa's eyes, afraid of what he might see there … afraid of what he might _**not **_see.

"I think …" said Elsa at length, "that we should … avoid doing that again … for now."

_For now?_ Carlos could hear the uncertainty, the longing in her voice, for it was reflected in his very heart. But he made himself nod. "I think that would be wise." He drew a couple of deep breaths and sat up very straight. "Thank you, Anna, for that … instructive episode."

"Yes," agreed Elsa, fighting the color that stubbornly crept into her cheeks, "thank you."

Jørgen swallowed a jam-laden bit of puff paste and cleared his throat. "Last night you were going to tell us why you came to Arendelle in the first place."

Carlos blinked at him. _Come on, brain, pull it together!_ "Ah. Yes. Yes, I wanted to do that." He refocused, finally, and frowned. "I, ah, have a number of different … _identities_ in various places around Europe. That is an unavoidable outcome of living three or four normal lifetimes."

"So you say."

Carlos smirked, intrigued. "Why do you doubt me? I have no reason to lie."

"It's a bit too fanciful. Let's just say I never met an immortal before."

"So the fire and the healing and the strength are perfectly normal?"

Jørgen's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "Okay. Your point."

"The _**Fey**_ are immortal, as far as I know. I have only ever met one, and have no desire to do so again. He was completely terrifying. But I'm _not_ immortal. Just durable."

Anna asked, "Are the trolls related to the Fey?"

"I would assume so. They wield innate magic. But they aren't a part of the High Courts, so they aren't immortal. Long-lived and tough, yes, but they do age and die eventually, as I expect I will."

"Yeah, they're pretty tough. And heavy. They're rocks."

"Well, dense, anyway. If they were truly rock they couldn't be …" He stopped himself, about to finish with 'alive', but then recalling Olaf. "Hmm. I may have to rethink some of the things I thought I knew about the Fey." Looking at Elsa, he asked, "Did you intentionally make Olaf to be … alive? He's self-aware, and intelligent – well, sort of – and has all the standard qualifications, except that he's made of snow."

Shaking her pretty head, Elsa replied, "No, I didn't know I was doing anything but building a snowman."

"You meant for Marshmallow to be alive, though," interjected Anna. "You told him to kick us out, and boy did he!"

Coloring again, Elsa said, "I'm very sorry about that. I was trying … if I'd known how …"

Anna reached over and gave her sister a quick squeeze. "I know, we talked all that to pieces already. It's okay, really, since it all worked out and stuff." She turned to Carlos. "There's another snowman up at Elsa's ice palace. He's alive, too."

A puzzled expression clouded Carlos's face. "Ice palace?"

Elsa cocked her head at Anna. "You know, I never did repair that place. And I'm sure it's still full of snow from the winter storms. Maybe after the wedding I can see to that." She got a slightly dreamy expression. "It would be a great place to go to relax."

Carlos shook his head. "We got off topic. Sorry about that. Okay, the reason I came to Arendelle was to warn you about an attempt on your life."

Jørgen leaned back and laughed at that. "And you succeeded handsomely, I'd say."

"I'm sorry. I didn't have a time frame, just a threat I'd intercepted."

"From whom?"

"Ah … well, that is to say …"

"Friend of yours?"

"Under no circumstances. But, look, he's doing this on his own hook as far as I know, so I'm pretty sure the Pope doesn't even know anything about …"

"The Pope!" exclaimed Elsa. "Why would … wait, you said …"

"_**Not**_ the Pope. Cardinal Papella. He's the Pope's personal secretary, and a thoroughgoing bastard of the first water, but Gregory XVI has been too busy worrying about the rebellions in Spain and Portugal, and all that trouble brewing in Austria that's been spilling over into Italy, to care what happens here. I don't think he's even taken an official stand one way or another on the question of your powers, my Queen."

That, thought Elsa, was fortunate. What she did not need, now or ever, was some big brouhaha with the Catholic Church over whether or not she was a sorceress. "I see. Well. It seems you already neutralized the threat."

"Two of them, maybe. But …"

"Two?"

"… Ah. The assassins and the huge influx of criminals."

"I _**knew**_ that was you," said Jørgen, pointedly.

"Um. One does what one may. In any case, we can't discount the possibility that he may have another arrow or two nocked. I would recommend continued vigilance."

A barked laugh signaled Jørgen's reaction to that statement. "Truly? I'd never have thought of that."

Anna asked, "But why you?"

"Beg pardon?"

"You said you intercepted a message?"

"Yes. I was acting as a courier."

"A courier? Whatever for?"

"Ah … well, you must understand a few things." He clasped his hands and leaned on the table. "When you have as much time on your hands as I do, sometimes you try new things to keep it fresh. I had left my estates in Spain and traveled to Rome to get away from that annoying civil war currently tearing up the countryside."

"You didn't want to fight in it?" Jørgen wanted to know. "Seems to me you could have decided a few battles single-handedly."

Carlos shook his head. "It's not up to me. I once did that, a long time ago, which is how I won my lands in the first place, because I was born a peasant. I was knighted on the field and later awarded an estate."

"An estate? So you _**are**_ rich."

"Well, as to that, yes, but it came through time and effort. By trading and investing, I built up my wealth to … rather embarrassing heights. The disagreement powering the conflict in Spain right now is almost entirely clerical in nature and of no interest to me. I paid a bribe to both sides to leave my lands alone, and took my leave."

"Clerical," mused Elsa. "So … you _**are**_ Catholic, though, are you not?"

"My Queen, I am a soldier and a Christian, and a very, very simple one. I eschewed the use of further labels many, many years ago."

She found herself inordinately pleased with that admission, but hid her smile.

"So. As I said, this Cardinal has an unhealthy fascination with your abilities. He refers to you in his letters as the Ice Witch."

"I am no witch!"

"This I know. You are Fey-touched. And from what I gathered in visiting several taverns when I first got here, your actions in nearly offering up your own life in defense of your people – more than once – were as Christ-like as any I have ever seen. I am not worried for the state of your soul."

She blushed and dropped her eyes.

Anna's fork clattered to her plate. She pointed at Elsa and crowed, "That's what I said! Isn't that what I said, Jørgen? And the bishop agreed with me, too!"

"Anna, please," begged Elsa. "Can we change the subject?"

Jørgen asked, "So did you ever have to use your fire powers in battle?"

A sober expression came to rest on Carlos's features. "Have to? Doubtful. Did? Yes. Once."

"I take it the results weren't what you desired?"

"No. I have been in hundreds of battles through some fifteen wars on three continents, and lost count of the number of men I killed a century and a half back. That is what comes with being a successful warrior, and the vast majority of them, I do not regret. What I _**do**_ regret is telling my liege lord one time of my abilities."

"And he insisted you use them?"

"He did."

"And a lot of men died?"

"Unnecessarily. I wanted to demonstrate to the opposing force that our superior powers could crush them. See, _that_ lord had two sorcerers working for him, and they had cast a plague on some of our men. So _my_ lord wanted them dead."

"God, I hate sorcerers! I was in an army that faced off against one once."

"Really?" asked Carlos, suddenly interested. "What happened?"

"He summoned a demon."

"Oh, ouch."

"No shi- um …" Giving Elsa's suddenly-stern face a glance, he amended, "no kidding."

"How'd you …"

"We had some archers with blessed arrows. They sneaked into the other army and managed to kill the sorcerer."

"Good."

"So what happened with you?"

Carlos didn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "The fire got away from me."

"… Oh."

He drew a long breath. "The sorcerer tried to take my fire, and it resisted. I lost control. The entire opposing army – and some miles of countryside beyond them – was consumed."

Things were quiet for a bit as they all absorbed that. Finally Carlos admitted, "I've never used it offensively since."

"And that was the only time?"

"Oh, no. When I was young, about fourteen, some three years after I was run out of my village, I …"

"What?"

He looked over at Elsa. "Um … I was about four when I discovered I could make a spark pop out the end of my finger. It was fun, and I started setting things on fire. I burned down half the village, but nobody found out I had done it, and it scared me so badly I repressed it _hard_ for years. When I was eleven, this gang of thugs cornered me and started to beat me up, and the fire … erupted. Burned my clothes off and killed the whole gang. But some of the villagers saw, and … well." He took a drink and then stared into the glass. "I spent the next few years on the run."

"My Lord!" exclaimed the Queen, "How did you survive?"

"Barely."

"That's horrible!"

"So is what _**you**_ went through." He glanced up and caught her eyes. "I was frequently hungry. But you were always alone."

She grew very quiet at that.

Carlos cleared his throat and took another sip. "So. I was in Navarre somewhere, trying not to starve when a couple of young men I thought were friendly took me by surprise. Got knocked on the head and press-ganged onto a merchant ship. I came to my senses chained to an oar bench. I, ah, lost my temper, you could say."

Anna, who seemed utterly captivated by these stories, asked breathlessly, "Did you sink the ship?"

"That one? No. I melted the chains off, killed the taskmaster, the captain, and the first mate, and took control of the ship. I knew enough to head south, away from the English, and the rest of the men on board were all convinced I was a demon and so did anything I told them to do."

"Where'd you sail to?"

"Heh. Not far at first. The very next day we ran afoul of a French patrol frigate. She fired on us. I returned the favor."

Jørgen nodded. "And _**that**_ ship sank."

"What was left of it did."

"Now I _**really**_ have to see a demonstration."

"We can arrange that. If you've got a remote valley with nothing in it, or a barren crag you think you can do without." He finished his wine and leaned back. "A few weeks later we ran the ship aground off Morocco. I don't know where everyone else went, since no one would talk to me, but I stayed in the area for a few months regaining my strength, then wandered off into the desert."

"How," asked Elsa, "did you learn you could heal yourself? That doesn't seem connected to fire in any way."

"Oh, it's not. I, ah, traveled extensively, somewhat later in life. I met the first other Fey-touched in the Punjab, a man named Hamaraja. He was about four hundred years old at the time."

"Oh, my."

"He was very wise. While I could wield fire, his gifts lay in Farsight and Prophecy. He also knew a very great deal about how to use the mind like a tool. One of the things he taught me was the creation of the Healing Aura. The human body is amazingly easy to piece back together given the right motivation."

Anna held up a finger. "But regular humans can't do it?"

"I've never met one that could learn the trick." He canted his head a bit and regarded her closely enough that she felt the need to fidget. "You might be a special case, though, given that Elsa's your sister. We can try, if you like."

"Okay. But teach her first." She reached over and took Elsa's hand. "If there are gonna be assassins after her, I want her to be able to fix any damage they do."

"An excellent suggestion."

"I concur," said Jørgen.

"So …" Elsa paused, mulling over her next question. "So, did he teach you any other … what I mean is, I was told that you … jumped over the high wall."

"Well … climbed it very quickly might be more accurate. Are you referring to my enhanced strength?"

She nodded.

"That simply develops over time. You will get stronger, too, just as your powers will."

"My powers?"

"Yes. My fire and my strength have increased with age. At the moment I am somewhere between four and five times as strong as a strong man, and my flame can be more than twice as potent as it was a hundred years ago. Given how amazing your abilities are at your tender years, I should think that, given a hundred years or so, you would be able to freeze the entire continent solid if you felt so inclined."

Elsa got a panicked look on her face. Frost covered the table. Ice crept across the floor.

"Elsa!" cried Anna, "what's wrong?" She grabbed her sister in a hug, heedless of the frigid condition of her skin. "Elsa, listen! It's okay! We're safe."

Turning brimming eyes on her younger sister, the Queen stood and embraced her. The ice stopped spreading. She whispered, "A hundred years."

Anna pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. "What?"

"A hundred years. Or two hundred." She turned her head to stare at Carlos, who looked none too sanguine about his position. "You're over two hundred years old."

"… Yes?"

"How long will you live?"

"I'm not sure. Probably somewhere between one and two thousand years."

Elsa squeezed Anna tightly, buried her face in the shorter girl's shoulder, and sobbed.

Carlos caught Jørgen's eye and made a gesture of confusion. The Captain shrugged, just as lost as the other man.

The tableau held for most of a minute before Elsa rounded on her visitor. "You mean to tell me," she queried, between sniffles, "that I'm going to outlive all my family?"

_Oh! So that's it!_ He cleared his throat. "Well … yes. If you can avoid dying by accident or murder. It comes with the Fey heritage." He spread his hands. "I'm very sorry. It isn't anything I have any control over, any more than you do."

Haunted eyes held his. She whispered, "How do you bear it?"

Dropping his gaze to the frost-covered table, he considered his answer before opening his mouth. "My … early life was very different from yours. You have been sheltered in more ways than one. By the time I had turned twenty-one, Death was an old friend … or at least a constant companion. I had killed nearly five hundred men and seen ten times that many die. If I wanted to preserve my sanity, I had no choice but to become a little hard." Directing his stare to a spot somewhere past her shoulder, he continued, "I've been married twice. My first wife, Julia, was … not strong. We had one child, and that laid her low for months. She died of a fever when the boy was seventeen. I was fifty-three when we married and had realized shortly afterwards that I was not aging like other men. I began bleaching my hair to hide my youth, but …" He sighed and tapped a finger on the table a few times. The frost whiffed to steam within a foot of his hand, and he frowned and clenched his fist. "Sorry. These memories are largely unpleasant. I arranged to pass on my lands to my son, Paulo, when he was twenty-one, and then I planned out my murder."

"Your what?"

"To leave him the free and clear owner, I faked my death. After that, I traveled into the …"

There was a commotion outside the door, which then burst open, admitting a guard, who pulled up very short at the sight of Carlos standing with his blades drawn, and Elsa with slitted eyes and blue swirls of magic around her hands. "Um … Sir! Come quickly!"

The Watch Captain jumped up and trotted around the table. "What is it?"

"The prisoners, Sir, they're gone!"

Anna gasped. Elsa and Carlos looked at each other.

Jørgen asked, "Which ones?"

"The assassin, and ten others, nine of the thieves we had caught …" He cast a brief, fearful glance at Elsa. "… and Prince Hans."

. . .

. . .


	11. Intuition

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 10: Intuition**

* * *

_The visible world is not the only one there is._

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Several Hours Earlier_

Some of the palace guard, Filip for example, thought of dungeon duty as a sort of mini-vacation. There wasn't much to it, and it gave one plenty of time for naps (or meditation, if that was your thing … which was _**not**_ true for Filip). All they really had to do most of the time was watch for the people delivering the food and let them in and out. Considering that it was still a couple of hours until dawn, he felt quite comfortable in leaning his chair back against the rough stone, pulling his helmet down over his face to block the lamp light, and catching ten or twenty winks.

Others (the more active ones) thought of it as the very measure of tedium. Especially on night shift, as Bernt thought, just watching the prisoners as they slept was _**incredibly**_ boring. The sergeant knew how he felt, but had placed him here anyway. Told him it would build character. Lying son of a bitch.

He noticed that Filip was asleep again. A wolfish grin took over his face as he silently slipped up beside him and used a foot to give the rear leg of the chair a sharp rap. It skidded along the damp floor, dumping Filip on his back, and Bernt hooted a laugh. "Wakey-wakey!"

But Filip just lay there.

Bernt bent over the man and shook him. "Hey! Fil! Come on, I know you didn't hit your head … that …" He saw something metallic protruding from the side of Filip's neck, jerked up, and pulled his sword just as the second tiny missile lodged in the carotid under his jawline. He gagged, doubled over onto the flagstones, spasmed twice and lay still.

Two black-clad figures glided into the corridor and down to the assassin's cell. He had heard them coming and used the few intervening seconds to free himself from the pillory by using his toes. He was rubbing his wrists when they got to him. "It took you long enough," he complained in a burst of Russian.

"We thought you'd get out by yourself." The speaker studied the cell door. "Ah. Fully enclosed hinges. That's overkill for a dungeon door."

"And why I had to wait on you."

The man who had so far been silent pulled a small vial and a thin, golden tool out of a pouch. "Stand back."

The prisoner squeezed himself into a corner. The other man positioned the tool tip over the door's bolt and carefully allowed a few drops of fluid from the vial to drip onto the runnel of the blade. They ran down its length and onto the thick iron, immediately hissing loudly. A cloud of dark smoke flowed away from the contact point and in less than a minute the violently reactive stuff had eaten it completely away. He pushed the door open and advised, "Don't step on the puddle."

"Oh, thank you so much for the tip. I developed that stuff, you know."

The second man tossed him a bundle of clothes. "We've found out a little bit of information about the man that killed Georg and the Ivans."

He pulled on the shirt and began tying things. "Yes?"

"For one thing, he's still alive."

The ex-prisoner's mouth dropped open. "That … is not possible. I hit him! I know damn well …"

"Yeah, you hit him. Got him in the shoulder. Their surgeon pulled the knife out himself. Kept it."

"… Then he's dead."

"Wrong. He's very much alive."

"How?"

"Managed to heal himself. We think he's a sorcerer."

The former prisoner thought that over. "That would explain his speed."

"Fast?"

"You wouldn't believe it. I fought him, and I can barely believe it."

"He has ensorcelled himself for quickness, then, and probably for other things as well. Doubtless he is planning to usurp the throne at some point. We will have to use a more subtle approach when we kill him."

"And stay out of the castle until we are ready. I have no desire to fight hellhounds again."

The first man executed an abbreviated nod. "I brought some blessed items with me."

The other two gave him an incredulous look. One said, "That last sorcerer really spooked you, didn't he?"

"What? Be prepared, right?"

The ex-prisoner said, "Eh. Sure," then pointed down the corridor. "By the way, I think there's someone here who would be most eager to help us fulfill our contract. For free."

"You mean that disgraced prince?"

"I do. Such a litany of hatred I have rarely heard before. We should take him with us, as he has knowledge of the royals."

"I didn't bring very much of the acid."

"You won't need it. Only the first three cells have the special hinges. The rest of them are simple drop-ins."

"… That's just weird."

"Hey, I didn't design the place. I guessed you couldn't find the keys, or you would have used them."

"Correct."

As soon as the prisoner was finished getting dressed, they slid down to Hans's cell and stared at him. "Doesn't look much like a prince."

"Neither would you if you'd been treated the way he has."

Two of them lifted the heavy door high enough to dislodge it from its hinges, then levered it out of the way. The noise woke Hans, who gaped at them in shock. "Who are you?"

"Someone who can do you a big favor."

"I don't need any false favors from the Witch Queen," he spat. "Take your bad joke elsewhere."

The speaker laughed at him. "We are no friends of the Queen. You want out or not?"

His feral gaze stared them down for a moment, then he nodded and got shakily to his feet.

The man walked into the cell and picked the lock on Hans's manacle. "You want a little payback?"

Eyes narrowed dangerously, he growled his answer.

"Good enough. Come on."

"Wait. I need some men for a special job. How many are you?"

"Five, at present, and we have a job already. All we need from you is information."

"And all I need is revenge." Peering down the corridor, Hans asked, "Will some of _**them**_ do?"

The three conversed silently for a few seconds, then one of them said, "Sure.

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1841, 11:00am_

The King's Library echoed with the sounds of argument as Anna stomped her foot. "You gotta _go ahead_ and _teach_ her that _**healing**_ thing!"

"Which would probably take _**days**_, and those are likely days we don't _**have!**_ That's why I want to set up the wards first!"

Elsa stepped in between her sister and their guest. "And I believe we should just calm down." She pointed at Anna, then at a chair by the large fireplace. "Sit."

"But …"

"Sit. Down."

With a monumental grump, she did so.

The door opened and Juan stuck his head in the room. "Everything okay?"

Carlos waved him off. "Just a difference of opinion."

"Pretty loud difference."

"We'll try not to disturb the sanctity of your repose."

"I could referee if you want."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're fine."

Juan shrugged. "Suit yourself. All clear out here." And he shut the door again.

Turning to Carlos, Elsa said, "Tell me of these wards."

"I know two kinds. There are dozens if you know how to fabricate them, but I was able to learn two that I thought useful. One is the _Dome of Spleen_. If someone who means you harm crosses its sphere of influence, you will get … a sort of notification. You'll know where he is from then on, until he gets more than a thousand paces away from you."

"I like that. Can you teach me?"

"I can show you. Then you can try it. It's not hard. At least, I didn't think so, and Hamaraja told me I really didn't have much aptitude for that sort of thing."

Anna piped up, "And what if she gets skewered while you're fiddle-fartin' around with these ward thingies?"

He came over and knelt in front of her, taking her hand, which caused her to color slightly. "Princess Anna, I vow upon my life that your sister-Queen will come to no harm while a drop of blood remains in my body."

Behind him Elsa stifled a gasp.

"I stopped them before. I can do so again. Setting up the wards will only aid me in this effort."

Staring at his hand, Anna drew a breath, cleared her throat, and drew another. His near presence was … formidable. "Okay. If you're sure."

"Thank you." He stood and walked over to Elsa, who held his gaze steadily. "My Queen, I would like to begin in the rooms you will most commonly occupy."

"Very well. That is … sound."

"I do have one question for you before we start, though."

"Yes?"

"Have you any practice in viewing the astral plane?"

"… Sorry?"

"I'll take that as a 'no', then." He glanced around and then chose two overstuffed chairs, moving them so that they faced each other. Then he indicated that she should take a seat.

When they were both comfortable, he began, "The visible world is not the only one there is."

"I'd suspected as much, given what I can do."

"Exactly. Now, the Fey can move between these worlds at will, which is what makes it nearly impossible to pin one down. They also have free access to the magic that swirls constantly in the other planes, which is what makes them so insanely dangerous."

"And you said you'd met one?"

"Yes, once. He … It? She? Whatever, it was curious about my dual heritage. It tried to get me to accept a favor from it, but I did know _**that**_ much about them."

"That would be bad?"

"If you owe one a favor, it basically owns you."

"… Oh."

"And, yes, that would be bad. He held me in a verbal sparring match for most of a day, trying to trick me into taking the boon."

"How did you get away?"

"Something distracted it. It lost interest in me and vanished, looking for its fun elsewhere."

"Lucky."

"Truly. In any case, the astral plane is a sort of limbo between ours and the adjacent planes. It has no magic of its own, but is _**heavily**_ infused with magic that leaks in from at least four other planes."

"How do you know all this?"

"Two hundred years' worth of research on my own, and about a thousand years' worth on the part of the other Fey-touched I encountered."

"That man you mentioned? Hamaraja?"

"He was one of two. The first I met. He had a home in the Punjab region, on this rocky outcrop that was nearly inaccessible. I followed local legends to track him down. He had made a study of the astral plane, and taught me much. The first thing you need to know is how to access it so you can look at it."

"And that's what you want me to do now?"

"Yes. The first step is to clear your mind of distractions, and it's usually the hardest phase." He went through several levels of instruction, guiding her in each as more than an hour passed. Anna got bored and left to grab some lunch, her four-man detail trailing in her wake.

"So …" His voice covered her like a soft blanket, his steady psychic presence a balm on her soul, easing some of the stress of her position. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even, her concentration nearly absolute. "… now that you have the keys in place, grip each one in turn in your mind." He followed along while she did so, frankly impressed at her skill. "Now … pull the veil toward you … good … now move it down so it's out of your way."

A tentative smile graced her features. "I can see it. Just as you said it would be." As she 'floated' through the opening she'd made, the billowing, silvery expanse stretched off to the horizon in her mind's eye. Slowly, she turned herself, marveling at the otherworldly landscape. "This is wonderful!" She reached out and 'touched' one of the lazily-floating tendrils, bringing it in and wrapping it around a finger.

Carlos's eyes widened in shock. "… How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"You are directly manipulating the aether of the astral plane."

"I thought that's what you meant for us to do."

He paused, thinking furiously. He had never, himself, been able to contact the aether directly, only coax it to do his will with his mind. It was one of Hamaraja's major frustrations with him. But … "You seem to have Hamaraja's gift for this."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Tremendous. You will be able to do vastly more than I ever could with it. And you already have a greater degree of raw power than he did when he was _**twenty times **_your age." Nodding to himself, he added, "It's as I had said. You are incredibly powerful. You have only to learn the details to become the most dangerous mortal being on the planet.

"May I admit that to be a little … frightening?"

"You would be unwise _**not**_ to be cautious with this level of power. I think your reservation is admirable."

Elsa examined the bit of aether she held, stretching it and forming it into a flat knot. "So what can I do with it?"

Her ability entranced Carlos as he watched her fold and weave the very stuff of creation. "Since you can mold it the way you are, the only limits are those in your mind. You are holding the basic building block of all magic. What you will learn is how to bend it to your will. Some of that you already know, and it will be similar to the way you form your ice constructions. Here, though, you will be taking the raw matter of magic and crafting it to a specific purpose."

"Like the ward?"

"Yes. Let's begin."

. . .

. . .

_3:00pm_

Elsa had had to exercise a high degree of will power to keep herself from wolfing down her lunch. As it was, she ate more than twice what she usually would have. The time they spent in viewing the astral plane, and especially in the crafting of the wards, had left her famished. Carlos, in an amused tone, had explained that it would get easier and less taxing with practice.

For his part, he was _**beyond**_ impressed with her talent. She had picked up on the ward-crafting in hardly any time at all, and had laid down a series of powerful Domes that would alert both of them if anyone of evil intent so much as stepped foot on the castle grounds.

After their meal, Elsa had felt the need of a quick nap. She'd expressed an interest in learning the other, rather more forceful ward that Carlos had described, but wanted to put that off until later, probably after supper. He, understanding her need for rest, was quick to comply. He would patrol the grounds, he declared, and see what he might be able to pick up. Perhaps if the missing Prince was in the area, he'd be able to find him.

Once up from her nap, Elsa had gone in search of her sister, feeling a desperate need for her simple, reassuring presence. Now they were tucked up on Anna's bed, her strawberry-blond braids undone as Elsa brushed her hair, while the younger girl went over the details of what she'd done with her day.

"… and then I spent most of an hour listening to Jørgen talk to his lieutenants about these assassin jerks and all the stuff they can do and all the people they've killed and a lot of 'em were pretty highly-placed and had lots of guards just like we do and it didn't do 'em any good and it's just plain freakin' _**scary**_ is what it is!"

"I don't disagree." She tugged through a small snarl of hair and got it smoothed down. "But now we'll at least know when they're coming. And we have a lot more resources to do something about it than any of the other people they've targeted."

"Jørgen's scared. I can tell. Scared for his men."

"And I don't want any more of my guards to die, either. Too many good men have already fallen over that mad Cardinal's stupidity."

"They love you, though." Anna craned her neck back to look her sister in the eye. "You know that, right?"

Elsa nibbled at her lip and gave a small nod.

"I can name a double handful who've said they could die happy if they got just one kiss."

A blush suffused her pale cheeks. "Oh, hush."

"You know it's true! Not that I blame them." She got up on her knees, turned, and hugged Elsa, mumbling into her ear, "You're the best thing to happen to Arendelle in, like, the history of ever. Everybody knows it. And none of 'em would even _**hesitate**_ to step between you and a crossbow bolt, me included."

The Queen fought down the lump in her throat and hugged Anna back. "I am so blessed."

Anna sat back on her heels and gave her sister a piercing look. "So these ward thingies …"

Elsa rubbed at her eyes and said, "What about them?"

"They'll let you know if one of those … those murderers gets inside the castle?"

"They will. We've already tested it and it works beautifully."

"But it won't _**stop**_ them."

"Not by itself. But if we know where they are, _**we**_ can stop them."

"… Is that 'we', meaning you and your Spaniard?"

The blush came back with a vengeance. "What do you mean by _**my**_ …"

"Oh, please. I've seen how you look at him. And he's so obviously besotted with _**you**_ it's a nine-days' wonder how he can keep his fire under control."

Elsa just stared at the duvet.

Anna put a soft hand on her sister's shoulder. "El? Am I wrong?"

A shake of her head was her only answer.

"So what are you gonna do about it?"

"I really wish I knew how to answer that."

"You know you could sort of encourage him, maybe just a …"

"I can't!"

Anna rubbed her sister's upper arm sympathetically.

"I'm scared, okay?" Her voice was suddenly shrill. A thin crust of frost coated the nearest bedpost.

Anna gave her a small grin. "And I'm not a bit surprised. But my question remains: Don't you like him?"

"… Like him? … No.

"Seriously? But I …"

"I don't think 'like' is quite the right word. It feels closer to … some kind of obsession."

"I knew it! I …"

Elsa stopped her with a light touch to her arm. "I go to sleep and he's in every dream. He … crops up in my mind … any time I'm not actively thinking of something else … and sometimes even then." She sniffled, picking at a loose thread in the duvet. "I have zero experience dealing with … feelings like this. My gut reaction is to suppress it, but I have it on good authority that _**that**_ would be the wrong approach. But … conversely, I'm afraid anything I say would be taken the wrong way and … and then there was that reaction when our magicks touched, and … I really, really, really want to do that again. But at the same time, I'm terrified of it." Little patches of frost came and went on various surfaces around the room as she folded over onto Anna's knee. "And with … everything else … it's not really something I have the emotional strength to focus on just now."

"Uhn. Yeah, okay. You've kinda got a lot on you."

Elsa sighed. "Once we've dealt with the assassins, maybe I'll be able to think straight enough to figure out this … whatever this … relationship thing is … but not now." She rolled over and closed brimming eyes, forcing out a small tear that left a glimmer of a track down the side of her cheek. "Not yet."

Anna gathered the taller girl back into her arms. "Okay. I won't bring it up again until after."

That won her a watery smile. "Promise?"

"No."

_*blink-blink*_ "… Fink."

"Yeah."

Elsa buried her head in Anna's shoulder and let the tears come. "Love you anyway."

"Love you back."

. . .

. . .

_6:30pm_

Supper had been a small, simple affair, quickly dispatched, and the two Fey-touched shortly found themselves back in the King's Library, with Juan parked once more outside the door. Over Jørgen's most strenuous objections, Elsa had decided to do without her personal guard until the crisis was over, stating that it was too dangerous for them, but Carlos's liege man had less-than-zero intention of leaving his master un-guarded. Elsa thought that was a sweet gesture and very commendable, but she worried for him. Carlos didn't even try to argue with him, knowing what the result would be.

The room hadn't originally been a library, or even set up to hold books, but the girls' great-grandfather, an inveterate reader, had decided he needed a sort of hidey-hole to sneak away to when the duties of his office weighed heavy. It was an interior room, possibly designed to be used for storage, which had been its function prior to collecting one of the better sets of rare and antique books in northern Europe.

At present, it served their purposes well primarily because it didn't have any windows, so no one could spy on them. Or shoot at them.

Carlos began without preamble. "Okay, this ward is called _Tower of Thorns_. It's a protective shell that can be set up specific to one or more individuals, or it can be tied to another ward so that it activates when that one does, or you can activate it yourself."

"Sounds versatile."

"I've used it dozens and dozens of times over the last century. It really helps one get a restful night's sleep when alone in the wilderness."

"… Have you spent a lot of time alone?"

"From time to time." His gaze got distant for a moment before he shook his head to dispel a memory. "Typically of my own choosing because I got so sick of other humans."

She had to smile at that, but then she sobered and said, "Carlos …"

The uncertain lilt in her voice gave him a bit of pause. "… Yyyyyyes?"

"Do you consider yourself human?"

He didn't answer right away, leaning back in his chair instead and crossing his left ankle over his right knee. "That's a profound question, my Queen, and one that I have spent a great deal of time considering."

"So you aren't sure."

"I have some of the hallmarks of humanity. Most of them, really. But humans can't do what we can do."

"But sorcerers can work magic, and they're human."

"And I don't count sorcerers as 'human anymore', since they bargained away the most human parts of themselves."

"… Sorry?"

"You've never met a sorcerer."

"No. Is that significant?"

"You'll know it if you ever do. You'll be able to feel it."

"Feel what?

"They feel dead. Dead inside. A lot of normal humans can't tell, but you're sensitive enough that you'd notice."

"But … but why?"

"Why do they feel dead?"

She nodded. "How can they be walking around if they're dead?"

"Their _**bodies**_ aren't dead. Just empty. They don't have souls."

She gave him a few deliberate blinks. "No souls."

"No."

"… How is that even a thing?"

"They trade them for Infernal power. Demons don't work for free, and Hell's medium of exchange is human souls."

She stared at him for a good ten seconds, then got up and slowly walked to the nearest bookcase. With her back still toward him, she said, "I'd heard tales … I thought they were just to frighten the gullible."

"Sadly, no. There are those who are willing to take the deal. More of them than you might realize."

"I honestly think that's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard."

"Sorcery _**is**_ pretty horrifying. It's all dark magic, most of which is designed to kill or maim or torture."

"So that's what Jørgen was talking about."

"Yes. Some unscrupulous – or stupid – rulers hire sorcerers to beef up their armies. It is almost always a really, really bad idea." He rose and came to stand a few steps behind her. "Sorcerers learn from demons how to write contracts, and unless the ruler in question is a complete _expert_ in law, the fine print will make sure he ends up the puppet of the sorcerer. I've seen more than one kingdom where a sorcerer was running things."

"That's terrible! What do the subjects do?"

"Usually? If they see it coming, they leave, if possible. If not … things get indescribably bad for them."

She turned back to him, shoulders hunched and arms crossed as if cold. "How do you mean?"

"Sorcerers crave power above all things, and they will go to insane lengths to get it. They start wars, spread disease, create famine. Who gets hurt in the mad quest is of no concern to them." He made sure she was paying particularly close attention. "And they like to experiment on humans."

"… I don't follow."

"They use their magic to …change their victims. Transform them into things that are no longer human." He averted his eyes. "I've seen some of those poor souls."

"… Carlos …"

He gave her his attention.

"Have you … ever killed a sorcerer?"

He didn't hesitate. "Eleven. And managed to banish two by turning their own evil magicks back on them."

She stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the bookcase. "Good."

Drawing a long breath, he said, "Elsa? I didn't mean to upset you. My history could best be described as 'checkered', and that's being kind. But I really do want to show you this ward."

She shivered, but offered him a small nod by way of assent. "Very well. Let's do that."

. . .

. . .


	12. Infiltration

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 11: Infiltration**

* * *

_You would be wise to stay here and stay hidden._

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1841, 10:30am_

Anton made to rise. "I'm going to go kill him now."

"Sit." Radimir grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"You want me to do it. You know you do."

"I know nothing of the sort. You made such a fuss and complained so much about having to talk to that ass that Nic finally volunteered to work with him to get you to stop griping … and besides, we need his information."

"I'd be willing to do without it just to shut him up."

Pavel and Miloslav both raised their hands, then looked at each other and grinned. "We'll do it."

Anton pointed at them emphatically. "See? _**See?**_"

Radimir gave the three of them a hard look. "You two, finish filling those grenades with holy water. Anton, give it a rest. Don't you need to go sharpen something?" Anton subsided, grumbling, while the others laughed at his expense.

Nicolai walked back into the house at that juncture and slumped into a chair, dropping his head into his hands. Radimir asked, "You get anything else?"

"… Yeah. You bet." His voice was slightly muffled, coming from between his hands as it was. "Turns out the Queen made this huge warrior snowman that lives in her ice castle on the mountain. Little Prince Hero-Man defeated it by whacking one of its legs off."

"… Warrior _snowman?_"

"His name is Marshmallow."

Radimir couldn't quite suppress his incredulous snort.

"And you can have the next go-round. I'm done with that idiot."

"… Right. I think that's one piece of information we can safely ignore." Grinning, the leader looked back and forth between Anton and Nicolai. "You've both dealt with madmen before this. What's so special about the Prince?"

Nicolai looked up and met his questioning gaze. "You remember Grand Duchess Elena's oldest boy?"

Radimir squinted briefly. "Paul, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"You remember that whiny bitch he took up with at his eighteenth birthday party?"

"Oh, God, do I ever. Natasha …" He snapped his fingers a few times. "Natasha …"

"Gregorov."

"Yes! Great day, but that woman would …" He stopped and narrowed his eyes at Nicolai, then gave his head a toss in the direction of the neighboring building. "You mean to tell me he's anything like her?"

"Twins separated at birth. Had to be."

"Really."

"Right. I'm done. I'd rather face that sorcerer again."

Radimir finished oiling his blades, stored them, and stood. "Very well. Since none of you ladies seems to have what it takes, I guess I'll just have to go show you how it's done."

"Good luck with that."

Forty-five minutes later, Radimir stomped back into the common room clenching his fists hard enough to threaten their blood supply, and grinding his teeth at the inanity of the man.

Anton spotted him first and leaned back in a deep laugh. "So, Brave Leader, tell us how it is done."

"Don't start."

"Did he give you anything useful?" asked Nicolai.

"Possibly. It was difficult to tell among all the grandiose threats against the Queen, petty threats against his brothers, and promises of how his reign in Arendelle is going to be the stuff of legend."

"Told you so."

"I said, don't start." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a small bottle, uncorked it, and took a long swallow.

"Vodka, Radimir? He must have really gotten on your last nerve."

The tall man shook his head at both the slow burn of the potent drink and his companion's statement. "He had stomped _all over_ my last nerve in the first five minutes. Then he pulled out a wood rasp and started filing away what was left."

"Heh. Did he sing for you?"

"Heavenly Host on a stick, yes! That is the most horrific …"

"I know," Nic interrupted, chuckling. "He sounds like a musk ox choking on a bagpipe."

"What in the world did the Princess ever see in that man?"

"She was young and foolish and lonely. Easy prey." He paused for a second, then added, "And he probably cleans up well."

Radimir sighed. "Eh. Nothing else for it. He was talking a bit about the layout of the lower floors, when he could spare a minute from puffing out his chest, and I need to get as much information out of him as I can before nightfall."

"Ah. _**Then**_ you'll kill him?"

"Absolutely not! I don't want to be the one to send him to Hell. You think I want Lucifer himself mad at me?"

. . .

. . .

_12:10pm_

Hans dropped his spoon into his soup bowl and stared at Radimir in stark disbelief. "… What do you mean, 'not kill her'?"

"Why do you care?"

"BECAUSE I WANT HER DEAD, DAMN IT!"

The assassin had moved back out of spittle range just in time. "Well. That isn't up to you, now is it?"

"What the HELL are some of the world's best ASSASSINS going after that Ice Bitch for if you aren't going to KILL her?!"

"That's not our contract."

"… Not your contract."

"No."

"What kind of idiot hires assassins but tells them not to kill the target?"

"And that would fall under 'You Don't Need To Know'."

Hans paced the length of his room several times, building up a head of steam. "I CAN _**NOT**_ FUCKING _**BELIEVE**_ THIS! HOW CAN YOU BE SO _**OBTUSE?!**_ I THOUGHT YOU WANTED ME TO HELP _**KILL**_ HER! THIS IS INSANITY! RANK STUPIDITY OF THE WORST KIND! WHY WOULD YOU EVEN AGREE TO …"

Radimir intercepted him at the halfway point, promptly twisted him into a very painful joint lock, and smashed his face up against the rough wood of the wall. In a total deadpan, he intoned, "I have a thing or so to say to you. You are going to listen to me. You are not going to speak until I have finished. Are we clear?"

When he could blink the stars of pain out of his eyes, Hans gave a small whimper of assent.

Radimir let him go and pointed to the narrow bed. Rubbing his aching shoulder, Hans sulkily walked over and flopped down.

"It would seem to me that, given your understanding of how I earn my keep, you would not wish to antagonize me. But you haven't demonstrated a noticeably high degree of wit in any _other_ aspect of life so far, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." He glided over to stand immediately in front of Hans, which caused the Prince to have to crane his neck to look up at him. "If all we needed to do was _**kill**_ the Queen, she would have been dead within a few hours after we got here. I have an extremely accurate rifle, and with it I can pick which one of your eyes to hit at two hundred and fifty paces. But that isn't what we were paid to do. Our contract is to _**capture**_ Elsa of Arendelle. She is to have her eyes gouged out and her hands and feet cut off, then we will deliver her, bound, to our benefactor. What he does with her after that is none of my concern. Nor is it yours, beforehand. If you wish to enact a personal vendetta against her, you may do so _**after**_ we have fulfilled our contract." He leaned down until they nearly shared breath. "Until then, you will answer my questions to the best of your admittedly shaky ability, maintain a respectful distance when I don't need to speak with you, and stay _completely away_ from Elsa of Arendelle. If you harm her in any way, if you make it even _slightly_ more difficult to fulfill our contract, I will reduce the remainder of your miserable existence to such an adventure in pain that Hell's demons will be in _**envy**_. Do you understand these terms?"

Hans, his mouth gaped open, nodded.

Radimir straightened and moved toward the door. "I have preparations to make. You would be wise to stay here and stay hidden. From what I have been able to determine, the general feeling among the populace here is that flaying with salt-encrusted knives would be MUCH too merciful a death for you. You should think on that." He paused for emphasis. "We will speak later." And he left.

Hans sat there in shock for quite some time. Yes, certainly, what they had in mind for Elsa exceeded his wildest expectations for paying her back for all her insults. He would never have been able to do it by himself. But …

… but they were robbing him of his revenge! He wouldn't get to swing the sword (or light the pyre, or slowly slit her throat while watching the terror rise in her eyes, or drive a thousand nails into her, or hang her unnatural carcass from a tree in the wilderness and let the crows have her, or any of the other remarkably sick ideas he'd had for ending her life). The anticipation of feeling her spirit ebb away under his own hands was all that had kept him going for the last several weeks. He had to live long enough to escape, and then …

But he had _already_ escaped, and ultimately it would do him no good. All he could do now was sit to the side, useless, while others took the pleasure in his stead. Resentment rose like bile in his throat. He wanted _personal_ contact, had to have a _personal_ responsibility for her death.

He had to do it himself. Nothing else would suffice.

In his fevered mind, the assassin's threats paled and receded, finally becoming inconsequential beside his desperate need for closure.

And they were going to deny him that?

No, he decided.

No.

They were not.

He stood and glared around the room for a moment, then stalked over to the mirror and stared at his reflection for quite some time. He noted a thin line of blood that oozed from a cut where the wood had abraded his face, finally nodding as the pieces of his plan fell into place. He would require a razor.

. . .

. . .

_12:45pm_

The Guild had access to a lot of very intriguing toys, not the least of which was the fine 1792 Ramsden telescope that Anton employed to spy on the castle. He'd found three different perches, each at least half a league from their target, but well within the fantastic instrument's capabilities. If Elsa had been perusing a book, he could have read it over her shoulder.

It pained him slightly that such a stunning creature as the young Queen was destined for so ignominious a death. He had a great and life-long appreciation of the female form, and he'd rarely seen one as immaculate as hers. But his pain was only of the aesthetic. He had not a shred of actual conscience left in his soul, and the hideous suffering she would undergo didn't enter into his calculations at all. This was just a job. He had taken part in dozens of such contracts over the decade he'd been with the Guild.

He had to admit, though, that this contract was somewhat out of the ordinary. In almost every case, the one hiring them would want a given rival (or the rival's relatives) dead. Sometimes it would be clandestine, a poisoned dart in the dark; that would send one kind of message. Other times, the assassination would be a public affair, perhaps even messy and loud; that would send a very different kind of message. A few times, they had been instructed to make it look like an accident or natural causes, which was usually the most fun. He could get creative with situations like that.

This time, though, Anton could tell with no mental effort _**at all**_ that their benefactor held some sort of _**extreme**_ personal animosity toward the mark, though he didn't know why. They had never met, of that he was sure. And the Cardinal didn't just want her dead. He wanted her humiliated and emotionally destroyed. Then he could hold a _**very**_ public tribunal, followed by a _**very**_ public _auto-da-fé _of the Ice Witch, which he felt for some reason would secure his place as the next Pope. Privately, the assassins thought he had traded his brains for soggy wool, but for the weight of gold he was paying the Guild, they could humor him.

And really, a job was a job. It was nothing personal.

Usually.

Find the mark, take the mark, get the money. Toast another successful contract.

But they all hated sorcerers on principle, and _**this**_ sorcerer had killed three of them, and that _**made**_ it personal. That state of affairs hadn't occurred in the lifetime of any current member of the association. It was an insult to the Guild, and such insults could not be allowed to stand unanswered.

They would secure the sorcerer's head, once they had Elsa, and take it back to Russia for taxidermy. It would make a fine addition to their display case, and yet another warning to anyone who felt inclined to oppose them.

He panned around the castle, looking for one or the other of their targets, but the closest he could get was the old man who hung around with the sorcerer. He was cooling his heels in a padded chair in one of the halls fronting the south side of the palace, and (apparently asleep) hadn't budged for over an hour.

They needed to kill him, just on principle. Anyone who would work for a sorcerer wasn't stable enough to be permitted to live.

_Activity._ Someone in palace livery pushed a covered tray on a small, wheeled cart along the hallway. The old man stood up, they spoke, and then the servant left the cart and walked away. The old man knocked on the door.

Anton concentrated, adjusting his focus.

The old man opened the door and pushed the cart in, and Anton's eyes widened in alarm. Through the door, he could see a portion of a couch, upon which lay the Queen. Over and behind her stood the sorcerer … and between her head and his outstretched hands, a blue glow suffused the air. He was placing some sort of spell on her!

The old man used a foot to shut the door.

Anton sat back, agitated. _Well_, he thought, _we pretty much knew what he was. Nicolai will be pleased to know he was right._ But suspicion, even strong suspicion, was no match for seeing actual proof, and viewing the damned being enacting his evil upon the Queen chilled him as few things had in his life. His eyes hardened. Stealing her from his grasp would be doing her a favor, no matter how grisly her eventual death. At least her soul would be intact. It would be up to his team to rid the Earth of another of those accursed creatures. He began putting away the telescope.

. . .

. . .

_5:30pm_

Miloslav, who was fluent in Norwegian and conveniently blond, had gone out earlier and wandered through the market and visited a few alehouses to get as much information as he could, and had made a remarkable discovery. When he got back to their hideout and shared his findings, Radimir's grin blossomed slowly and stayed in place. "And you are sure of this?"

"Completely. She sent them _**all**_ away, along with the whole staff. According to one of the guards himself, she said enough good men had died and she thought it too dangerous for them to stay and guard her. He was positively morose about it. She even had all the guests transferred to hotels, and did they ever put up a fuss!" He chuckled. "Not as big a fuss as her sister did, though. From what I picked up, she's a right little spitfire, and utterly loyal to the Queen, and the level of bitching she pitched was epic. Anyway, the hotels are full, and are surrounded by two rows of archers with crossbows. I guess she wants to make sure we leave them alone."

"So the sorcerer is the only one left?"

"Him and his servant."

Anton piped up, "The old guy with the gray beard."

"Yeah, him."

"She's relying on her ice magic to save her," mused Radimir, "that, and the sorcerer."

"Hey," spoke up Nicolai, "maybe the sorcerer is _making_ her do it?"

The others thought that over briefly. Pavel shook his head. "Doesn't add up. You know what sorcerers are like. He's after the kingdom, and he'd want her protected, and wouldn't give two shits how many guards died to keep her safe."

"Huh," answered Radimir. "Okay. That makes sense. So it's her doing." He shook his head in disbelief. "That level of altruism can get you in a lot of trouble."

"So I guess that spell he was putting on her wasn't a mind-control thing, then," said Anton quietly.

Miloslav said, "Maybe it was a protection spell? If he knew they weren't going to have any guards …"

"Right. That makes sense, too." Radimir looked around at the other four, then picked up a grenade. "Which makes exposing her to holy water a top priority. That will break his spell, and we'll be able to get to her." They had worked out several possible ways to incapacitate the Queen so that she wouldn't be able to focus well enough to control her ice magic, and carried several gas canisters that would do nicely.

"Very well, then. Our current plan is still valid. We'll get some sleep now and start the mission at midnight."

. . .

. . .


	13. Fortification

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 12: Fortification**

* * *

_"I belong to no man."_

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1841, 6:38pm_

It took her a few seconds, but then Elsa realized something: Carlos had just addressed her by her given name. He called her 'Elsa'. It struck her (harder than she thought it ought to) that those two syllables had never sounded quite like that before. Her name on his lips was like the caress of a fresh spring breeze through a window opened for the first time after a long winter.

A slight chill ran up her arms … and she never _**got**_ chills.

This was … it was the first time he had ever done that! They had spent _hours_ and _hours_ in conversation, and he had only ever referred to her as 'my Queen' or 'Your Majesty' until this very minute. Why? Why would he have done that?

Immediately she wondered about the depth of significance the act might carry. Did he even recognize what he'd said? Had he _meant_ to deepen the level of familiarity? Had it been a slip of the tongue? That didn't seem likely. He had been formal to a fault thus far, treating her with every respect and deference due a Queen. It was refreshing, in a way, to see and understand that he could be other than standoffish. If, that is, it had been intentional.

What could it mean?

"My Queen?"

She startled and jerked around a little. "What?"

"Begging your pardon, I asked whether you were ready. We will need to access the astral plane again."

"… Oh. Of course." Maybe it _**had**_ been a slip of the tongue. _And maybe, if we live through this, you can ask him! Right now, a bunch of very talented assassins are trying to kill you, and you've got to focus!_ She winced inwardly as her conscience chastised her for being a flighty girl. Drawing a deep breath, she prepared her mind.

Together they opened the silvery door …

. . .

. . .

_7:10pm_

The whorls and feathers and crystalline landscapes took shape rapidly as Elsa covered another window, this time with a pastoral scene from Arendelle's uplands. It was the fifth such work of art she had made in as many minutes, and Carlos stood back in rapt admiration as she wove her ice magic. _So unrelentingly beautiful! So wonderfully, perfectly formed! So exquisite in every detail!_ Tearing his eyes – by main power of will – **away** from Elsa and focusing instead on the thick frost covering the windows, he added to himself, _The ice is nice, too._

After a bit of discussion, they had decided that giving the assassins a free look inside the palace was not in their best interest, so she took care of it, whiting out the windows in the second and third floors. As an added bonus, she reinforced the crystal lattices on a microscopic level, giving the frozen coating an obdurate nature rivaling that of wrought steel plate. If once the killers got inside and then thought better of it, they certainly wouldn't be leaving through the windows.

That observation led them around to the idea of limiting access to just a few points. If they could nudge the intruders along specific paths, they could more readily control the situation. So she froze the entire roof, the rest of the windows, and most of the portals and gates, only leaving the main gate and four small out-of-the-way and easily overlooked doors free of blockage. Not that either of them thought for a second the assassins _**would**_ overlook them. They were, after all, some of the best.

They were walking back along the Southern Hall past several mounted suits of armor when Carlos stopped in front of one of them. The cessation of his tapping gait halted Elsa as well, and she came back over. Looking from him to the armor and back, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

His chin trapped between a thumb and finger, he stared hard at the plate mail suit. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Olaf." He canted his gaze over toward her.

"What about him?" But then her eyes widened and a slow, predatory grin took over her face. She chuckled and said, "Stand back."

. . .

. . .

_8:50pm_

Carlos had observed, entranced, as she wove the ward magic, taking the basic bones of the _Tower of Thorns_ and re-crafting it in her own image in a number of different ways … and some of them were very _deadly_ ways. This didn't exactly worry him, but it did puzzle him a bit, having gotten to know Elsa and her basically kind and gentle nature. It seemed out of character.

He'd made a rather tentative inquiry into the, ah, _**extreme**_ nature of the revised wards, and had received a lecture on the nature of the monarchy, how it related to the ethical and economic health of the nation, how it was necessary to the morale of the people, how it directed trade and growth … and how she had had it **Up To There** with people trying to kill her and her loved ones. If she had to enact a few hideous deaths of her own to get them to leave her alone, so be it.

But her voice shook while she said it.

And he understood. She was in an untenable situation, a young, sensitive woman cast as Commander-in-Chief of a nation, and trying to save as many of her people as she could … even if it meant chipping away at her own soul. Yes, he understood _**that**_ all too well.

But he also understood that now was not the time to take up that cross. What she needed was simple, basic moral support, and that he could offer handily. He accepted her explanation at face value without further questions, and concentrated on adapting to their situation what he knew of defensive tactics.

And she really made it very easy. Hardly ever had he witnessed such works of magical art. At his suggestion she had placed many of the wards in and near her rooms. She would serve as the bait and let the assassins come to her, and that suited her current mood perfectly. Once she was finished they repaired to the kitchens for a late dinner.

"To be brutally honest," admitted Carlos as he tore off a chunk of meat from the cold joint of lamb in his left hand, "I would rather do almost anything else than try to invade this palace in its current state."

"I should hope so. I worked hard enough on it." She speared a slice of pear with her fork and slid it into her mouth, chewing in reflective enjoyment before she showed him her dimple. "You had some pretty good ideas yourself."

He forced himself not to stare at the juice bedewing her lips, turning his attention instead to the lamb. "Um … Still, there really is no telling what sorts of offensive weaponry those guys will have."

"Lesser ones than ours."

"Now don't get cocky." He picked up a small cluster of some dark berries and examined them, finally picking one off and popping it experimentally between his teeth. The rest quickly followed. "Yes, we've got a tight setup. But what if they … well, for example, what if they bring a bomb?"

"They won't."

"… And you know this because?"

"Why would they? They didn't before." She drained her wine glass and since the bottle was on his side of the table, motioned for him to get her a refill, which he shortly did.

He countered, "They won't use the same tactics, either. In their line of work, that'll get you killed."

"Don't you think that if they'd had a bomb, they would have used it up front?"

"Perhaps they simply didn't know how difficult this job would be. They seemed awfully surprised when I showed up."

"So," she ventured, her dimple growing, "you think your mere presence warrants a huge increase in firepower?"

"It would warrant their being careful. All they know about me is that I killed three of them. I'd venture to say that doesn't happen often. They would come prepared to counter my presence … as far as they know how."

She considered that for a minute, tapping one shapely knuckle against her chin. "Yes. I can see that. _**We're**_ being careful. It would be silly to think they aren't."

"It would be fatal."

"Well, then." Nicking the last roll, she stood from the table and began walking to the door. "As long as we're going in that direction, I had another idea. It's a sort of misdirection thing."

"Sounds good." He rose and followed her. "What's involved?"

"You recall how we changed the wards near the front gate?" She bit into the roll as she turned his way. A few crumbs of the crisp crust fell to her bodice.

Carlos did his best to ignore both the crumbs and the bodice, wondering if she was doing this to him on purpose. Muttering, "You mean how _you_ changed them," he thought it over. "Are you talking about the illusion?"

"I am. I think I can manage another level or two of complexity, and it will confuse them no end."

"Then by all means, let's get started."

. . .

. . .

_10:05pm_

Elsa looked from Carlos to the spot he'd marked on the flagstones and back. "What are we doing? Treasure hunting? 'X' marks the spot?"

"It's better than treasure. It's power."

She just blinked at him, one delicate eyebrow raised in perplexity. "It's a … what did you call it? Low line?"

"Ley line."

"… Lay it on what?"

"No, no. 'Ley' as in L-E-Y."

"Ooooookay. And this is … good?"

"I think it's probably the most fortuitous discovery we could have made."

"Seriously? I never even heard of a ley line before! What is it?"

Carlos knelt on the floor of the cellar, holding his hand over the chalked mark near the stones. "It's a part of the lattice of magical energy that is inherent to Earth." He moved his hand around for a bit, then held it cupped and slightly tilted. A smile grew on his face. "It's a good one, too. Strong and stable."

"If you say so."

Looking up at her, his grin intensified. "You see what I'm doing with my hand?"

"Yes?"

"Ley lines are conduits for the flow of magical energy in Earth's natural field. What I am doing is collecting some of it."

"… You can do that?"

"So can you."

She mulled that over. Then she knelt opposite him. He removed his hand and she placed hers where it had been. After a minute she looked up. "What am I supposed to be feeling?"

He frowned. "It should tingle, just slightly."

She stared, then shook her head.

He got up and moved a couple of steps away. "Try standing where I was."

A short sigh indicated what she thought of that plan, but she moved anyway and knelt again, trying to copy his motions exactly. "I still don't see how … this …" Her gaze fell to her hand. "Oh … Oh, my."

"You feel it?"

She nodded. "It's … cool? … No."

"As I said: tingly."

"… Right. … Tingly." She seemed very much caught up in the sensation. "It's like … like running my hands through a fast stream, except I'm not getting wet." She held both hands down, making a bigger cup of them. "Ohhh. That's … nice."

"It's a different _**kind**_ of magic from what you were born with, but one you can use as a power source regardless. It's the Earth magic that the trolls use."

"Oh!"

Their tableau held in silence for a few minutes as she stayed put, soaking up the magic. It was when he noticed that she had begun to glow a soft blue that he said, "That might be enough for now."

She blinked and looked up at him. "What?"

He chuckled. "I think you're getting waterlogged."

"Oh." She stood and let her hands fall to her sides, drawing a long, shuddering breath. "That … was … amazing."

"You're glowing."

Glancing at her hands, she then sent him a slightly panicked gaze. "Did I get too much? Is this safe? Am I going to …"

"Whoa, whoa, don't worry. That glow will die down after a while. Or if you tap into it."

"You're sure it won't … hurt me?"

"I fell asleep in a ley line once. When I woke up, I was glowing so brightly I didn't need a lantern for the next three nights." He left out the details of how grievously he'd been injured at the time, and how all the extra power had gone into his healing first. "Don't fret. It's fine."

"… Okay." She was studying her hands.

"If you'd like to damp it down, just use it."

"Use it?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Make something." He gestured at the stone of the passage. "Throw some icicles around or something."

"Very well." She drew back an arm and 'threw' something at the wall.

The massive construct of black ice sprang into being instantly, its base against the near wall wider than her arm's length. The point slammed into and through the ancient stones of the opposite wall, crushing them to gravel with no apparent effort and shaking loose a large drift of dust from the ceiling. She and Carlos both jumped away in shock.

"Holy shi-" She glanced up at him, blushing. "Um … shoot." _Darn it, Anna! You're rubbing off on me._

His eyes were enormous. "Did … you intend to make it that big?"

Slowly, she shook her head.

He rapped the pommel of his sword on it. The surface rang like a fine blade. "My word."

"You said it was safe!" Accusation dripped from her voice.

"Well … it's safe for you."

An exasperated _huff_ preceded her waving her hand at the colossal thing, whereupon it whiffed into mist and vanished. A quick fall of small stones poured out of the hole left behind. She stared at it for a moment, then allowed, "Guess I'll have to get the masons down here once the crisis is past."

"Your glow dimmed a little."

Examining her hands, she murmured, "Thank God for small favors."

"One other thing about using a ley line."

Her eyes snapped up. "Oh, goody. What now?"

"It gives you a lot of energy."

Holding up one luminescent hand, she remarked, "Oh, really? I'd missed that one entirely."

"General energy. What I mean is that you won't have to sleep for a while."

"… Oh." She stared off at nothing for a moment, and a half-grin crept across her lips. "Well. Considering our circumstances, that strikes me as handy. And you're right. I don't feel tired at all, and I was worn to raveled threads earlier."

"That _**is**_ lucky for us, that we found this. Now at least we'll be alert when they come."

She nibbled on her lower lip, an action that brought all sorts of inappropriate notions into Carlos's head. "Do you really think they'll come tonight?"

Taking a deep breath, he focused on the bridge of her nose, which seemed to hold less danger for him than anywhere else on her face. "I am sure of it."

. . .

. . .

_11:45pm_

Elsa's apartments included the formal Receiving Room, which was the first one off the hall, then on the right a parlor that led to a small study, and on the left a short hall that led to her dressing room and past that her bedroom. A generous bath opened off the left side of the short hall.

Carlos lounged at ease in one of the wing-back chairs opposite the love seat, where Elsa had stretched out. Given the 'formal nature of the occasion', Señor de la Maria had elected to respond by dressing formally himself, in a loose black muslin shirt and pantaloons for freedom of movement. Black gloves of the finest kid covered his hands. Soft boots of black felt, the soles impregnated with resin for traction, disguised his feet. A black silk scarf tucked loosely into a pocket was ready to cover his face but for his eyes.

He knew that he and Elsa and Juan were the only other sentient beings in the palace, and he was dead sure that the assassins would be dressed in black again. When he encountered them, every being within range of his swords would be the enemy, so he wouldn't have to pick his targets with care. But if he was dressed as they were, perhaps one of them would hesitate or slip up. Every small advantage he could get would be worth the effort. Even as prepared as the palace's inhabitants were, those guys were too good at what they did for him to underestimate them. And he didn't know how many he'd be facing.

They'd been discussing Juan, and some of the adventures they'd had together over the last thirty years, a few of which had left Elsa breathless with laughter.

Finally, though, she got pensive in her questions. "And he's really that good? I didn't think there could be anybody who was your equal with a blade, much less your master."

"He was that much better when we met. He's been teaching me for three decades now, and I _**have**_ improved somewhat." He gave a low sigh. "And Juan is getting older. Don't misunderstand, he's still probably the fourth or fifth best swordsman in the civilized world. But he's slower than he used to be. And he's developing a bit of arthritis in his right thumb."

She absorbed that. "But you won't."

"Well, no."

"And you're … what? Four times his age?"

"About that, yes."

She said nothing for three breaths, and then, "And neither will I."

"No," he answered, his voice as gentle and sympathetic as he could make it, "you won't. You will stay young and fresh and lovely for many, many hundreds of years."

She didn't dwell on his description of her. She had a good idea of the general notion of what constituted beauty in their culture. And she had access to mirrors. She held no illusions about her appearance. That's just how it was. And it seemed that was how it was going to stay for a long, long time.

After a few minutes of melancholy silence, she sighed and asked, "So how did you two meet? I'll bet that's an epic tale, too."

Carlos closed his eyes and let his mind settle, arranging the details where they should go, and began the story . . . . . . .

_. . . . . . . The Moors in that area of North Africa were not reputed to be genial hosts, preferring a quickly slit throat over almost every other form of interaction with those of European extraction. The wars with the southern nations had been bitterly fought, and the Moors' sense of revenge had grown keen._

_Mulay Suleiman of Morocco had recently concluded a successful naval campaign against Portuguese incursions, and celebrated by providing lavish entertainment in his court. Carlos, who was fluent in the three local languages and could easily pass for a native, had performed a few services for the Crown, and as such had received an invitation to one of his soirees. The food was excellent, the floor show even better, with jugglers, a contortionist, dancing girls, and a fire-eater. But then the main event began._

_They all went out to the courtyard and the guards directed a large space to be cleared, a rough circle of perhaps half an acre, and then they wheeled out a great stone and dumped it in the center. It had a stout ring of steel in one side. Next, a cage made an appearance. The occupant, a very dirty young man with a shaved head and a ragged loincloth, had a length of chain attached to a shackle around one ankle. This was pulled over to the stone and fastened securely to the steel ring before the door opened. They pulled the cage away and everyone backed off. Then another guard brought out two bronze swords and pitched them, one at a time, toward the young man. He snatched both of them out of the air and stood staring at the Mulay, chin raised defiantly._

"_This man," said the Mulay conversationally, "is from the East. We do not know where. But the Ottomans captured him on their eastern border, in one of their endless skirmishes, and he was made a slave. I bought him five months ago."_

"_He seems quite comfortable with those swords. Are they truly bronze?"_

"_If they are, they are like no bronze I know. They are harder than iron and tougher than steel, and take and hold a better edge than any other metal I have seen. I insisted that they be part of the deal."_

"_What, when you bought him?"_

"_Indeed. He had them when he was captured, and they seem to be very precious to him for some reason."_

_That did pique Carlos's interest, and he determined then to examine the blades later. "So what is he going to do?"_

"_Watch."_

_A score of naked men shuffled in under the spears of the guards and stood to one side. In the balcony that surrounded the open courtyard, archers filed in and took their places, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. The Mulay's herald stepped forward. "The peace of Allah be upon you all."_

_A murmured, "And his peace return to you," skittered around the gathering._

"_These men, having been found guilty of piracy, are condemned to death."_

_The men in question just stood there sullenly, silently._

"_However, it is the Mulay's pleasure that they be given an opportunity to beg Allah's mercy. If they can face our champion and live, they will go free."_

_This was evidently news to the convicts, as their surprise came out in excited whispers. Suleiman's victory over the Portuguese had resulted in numerous captives, and many of them currently hung from gallows near the city wall, suspended by ropes through their ankles. Some of them had taken nearly a week to die. He was not a kind ruler. As one, the convicts turned and stared at the young man in chains. He didn't so much as glance their way, his full attention being on the Mulay._

_Four guards marched out and placed four groups of swords on the ground between the chained man and the convicts. The herald said, "Each man of you, choose a sword."_

_They hastened to obey, some of them fighting over the better weapons. Before everything settled out, one man was bleeding to death from a stab to the gut and another nursing a broken arm. They were dragged away._

"_If any one of you," continued the herald, "manages to strike a death blow to the champion, all of you will go free. But if, at the end of five minutes, he still stands, all of you will be beheaded." He stepped back three paces to stand beside the Mulay, picked up a large hourglass with very little sand in it, and said, "Go." Then he turned it upside down and set it back on its table._

_Most of the men yelled and charged at the chained man. His molten-hot gaze flicked in that direction, and his swords began a regular spinning pattern._

_Three men reached him simultaneously, all with swords high and coming down at him. Contemptuously, he tapped them, right, left, right, following up each tiny re-direction with a blindingly fast nip at a neck. Those three crumpled to the floor and lay still._

_The next four men were perhaps two steps behind the first group, and didn't have time to stop or change direction when they realized they faced no simple challenge. Two of them were disemboweled before they could get out of the way, the third had his throat slashed, and the fourth his right arm removed at the shoulder. He stumbled away, screaming, until two of the archers skewered him._

_This left eleven men, who took stock of the situation and huddled up. A moment later they broke apart and moved to surround the captive. He stared around at them for a moment as they got into position, then stood straight, crossed his swords in front of his chest, and … closed his eyes._

_Carlos leaned forward, utterly mesmerized. Surely he didn't know …_

_But apparently he did. All eleven screamed and leaped to attack, whereupon the captive became a sirocco of death, his blades a bloodied windmill. It was over in seconds._

_The captive held his swords at the ready and stood still, untouched, glaring again at the Mulay. In a strange accent, he proclaimed, "I belong to no man."_

_Carlos couldn't help being moved. He turned to Suleiman and asked, "Would you be willing to sell this man to me?"_

_Dark eyes regarded him shrewdly for a moment. "You admire him."_

"_And you do not?"_

"_He is only a slave."_

"_But he could be so much more."_

_The monarch's thick fingers drummed the arm of his seat for a while as he thought it over. "I will sell him to you for two hundredweight of gold."_

_Carlos's brows rose sharply. "Two … ah. I see. You do not wish to sell him at this time."_

"_His performances please me. Also, I need not pay a headsman."_

_Carlos, knowing what a headsman usually took as pay (and it wasn't much), glanced around at the almost ridiculously opulent court and nodded, a small smile playing about his lips. "Of course. One must be frugal."_

"_Yes, one must."_

_They spoke no more of the slave._

_Two nights later, Carlos found where they kept the bronze swords, then broke into the holding pens and freed the slave. They were far, far away by the time the escape was discovered. . . . . . ._

Carlos cleared his throat and downed half of the small beer he held. "The slave's name was lengthy and difficult to pronounce, so I just decided to call him Juan. When I asked him about his native land, he stopped his horse, stared off toward the east for a moment, and replied, 'The mountains,' before trotting away. I decided that was probably a sore subject and didn't bring it up again."

She smiled a little. "Kind of you."

"But of course," he answered, returning her cheek. "He picked up Spanish without difficulty and was fluent inside a year. His original plan had been to head back east, but in the first place he didn't know whether he had any kin left and in the second, it was a very lengthy journey back to his homelands. So when I offered to take him to Spain (having expressed a keen interest in learning those amazing sword techniques) he didn't have to think about it too long."

"I'll bet. Certainly a better situation than he'd had."

"Too right. Anyway, once Juan got to know me and deemed me trustworthy, he decided he knew a good thing when it got dumped in his lap, and went ahead and swore the Oath of Righteous Honor."

"The which?"

"Something from his homeland, an accepted practice for his people." Carlos gave half a shrug and crossed his legs. "Over the next several years we got into enough trouble and saved each other's life enough times and learned enough of each other's secrets that we became closer than most brothers."

"I think that's very sweet."

"Don't let Juan hear you couch it in those terms."

"Oh, I bet he wouldn't mind."

"You want to go ask him?"

"… Not really. Not when it's this late, and he hasn't had the benefit of absorbing magic from a ley line."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he's …"

They both stiffened when one of the wards got a ping, their heads darting up. Black eyes met her cerulean gaze.

_They are here!_

. . .

. . .


	14. Exertion

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 13: Exertion**

* * *

_The first rule of war is that men die._

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 27 July 1841, 12:05am_

Elsa immediately fell into the state of hyper-concentration required to view the astral plane, and the silvery expanse opened, revealing its secrets. Carlos followed a second later, impressed once again with her mastery. Their astral projections 'floated' side by side, watching the smoky red sparks of the assassins as they sneaked into the palace via one of the un-frozen doors. Elsa counted them off silently, finally saying,_ [[ … fifteen … that's a lot more than I thought there would … ]]_

They felt another _ping_. More of the sparks began flowing in through the unguarded back entrance of the wine cellar. Carlos began having serious misgivings as that group of twelve huddled up and then began moving farther into the palace. _**[[ … this doesn't make sense … there would be no need for such a large group … even if we assume that they were trying to … ]]**_

That's when the explosion rattled everything in the palace. All the wards around the main gates lit up, and a huge wave of red sparks flooded quickly in through what must have been a gaping hole. Elsa's projection looked over at Carlos's and said, _[[ … okay … you were right … they had a bomb … I guess I owe you dinner … ]]_

_**[[ … really? … NOW you're making jokes? … ]]**_

Elsa closed her connection to the astral plane and bumped back into the mundane world. When Carlos opened his eyes, she was standing, arms akimbo, and letting the wards' magic weave a hazy, translucent representation of the palace in the air to show her where the interlopers were. He studied their patterns and swiftly came to a conclusion. "The front gate attack is a diversion."

"What?"

"To draw our attention that way while the real threat sneaks up behind us."

She looked between the groups and then nodded once, tersely. "Okay, I can see that. It makes sense they'd try something along those lines. So which of the other groups is the true danger?"

There was a tiny bit of feedback when one of the defensive wards in the courtyard activated. A dull **WHUMP** reverberated through the floor as a monumental block of ice formed and fell some three man-heights to the ground. Suddenly the flood of red sparks was reduced by nine. Those left milled around for a few seconds, then gathered in a knot near the gate. Elsa murmured, "Fools rush in."

Carlos opined. "Effective measure, though."

She only said, "Hmh." He could tell from her trembling lip and straining brow how much this night's death toll – and her central role in it – was affecting his Queen, and his heart ached for her.

The group in the courtyard, still huddled so close together that they looked like one big red smudge, moved very cautiously toward the front door of the palace. Elsa noted quietly, "They'll find out soon how big a mistake _**that**_ plan is."

She and Carlos concentrated on the other two groups. He summed up, "Four of them attacked you the first time, so that was all they thought they would need. One escaped from the dungeon. Even given that they were going after a reigning Head of State, I'd be _**extremely**_ surprised if they'd sent more than a dozen to begin with, and it probably wasn't that many. You only need so many support personnel."

"So," she countered, "are the rest of the assassins in one of those groups, or spread between the two?" Neither of them doubted that the killers were present.

"My money would be on an even division. So, if we postulate that they started with twelve, nine of those sparks are assassins." The two Fey-touched watched carefully as the groups maneuvered around …

. . .

. . .

Anton and Miloslav commanded the group of thirteen thugs they had been able to gather for this invasion. They had no doubt that magical traps would be waiting for them … but likewise they felt secure in the knowledge that their weaponry could defeat sorcerous spells. They were replete with bottles of holy water, arrows and knives of blessed silver, and grenades that combined the two. Their job was to neutralize the sorcerer. Anton in particular looked forward to it with some relish.

Each of the five assassins, within the folds and seams of his blackened outfit, had threads of that same silver, all leading down to one twisted strand that hung out beside the soft boot, grazing the ground. This should catch any spell he tried to throw and conduct it away from their bodies. They weren't sure it would work more than once, or work perfectly the first time, but it was certainly better than nothing. It would give them time to lob their unique grenades, and then the sorcerer would be just another man. And then he would die.

Moving along at roughly the center of their pack, Anton directed them whenever they had a decision to make. Miloslav brought up the rear.

One of the first things they noticed was how cold it was in the palace. Frost covered most surfaces, and sparkling stalactites hung here and there. The Ice Witch had prepared a welcome.

It was when they turned into the Southern Hall that things began to get really weird. Snow was banked half-way to the high ceiling along either long wall, which left only a narrow passage, less than an armspan wide, to walk through. The assassins sensed a trap and readied two of their bottles of holy water.

It did them little good. When the six armored knights burst out of the snow to their left and started whacking away at the brigands, they only had the opportunity to throw their bottles at two of them. The holy water had no obvious effect, which left them both cursing. Fortunately, the knights all seemed a little clumsy. Anton attributed that to being buried in the snow while waiting for them … but as it turned out, that wasn't it at all.

The brigand ahead of Miloslav rammed his long sword up under the nearest knight's breastplate, an instantly fatal blow, but the knight didn't even seem to notice. So startled by that fact was the brigand that he didn't think to avoid the pommel that came down on top of his head, laying him out flat. The knight followed that up with an overhead blow that almost completely parted the man's head from his neck. With the late killer's sword still sticking out of his middle, he turned to Miloslav and lifted his heavy blade.

But the Russian was having none of that. Three quick strokes severed the knight's arms and chopped through one knee. The armor collapsed, snow and ice spraying from the 'wounds'.

"Attack their limbs!" he yelled down the hall. "They're golems! You have to chop off the limbs!" Fitting actions to words, he bulled his way up to the next knight and soon sent it spinning to the floor.

When the last one had fallen and they had moved on past the trap, the leader of the brigands counted up their losses, and then rounded on Anton. "Five! Five good men! Those things killed almost one man apiece!"

"You knew it was dangerous when you signed on."

"I didn't sign up to fight ice monsters!"

The assassin gave him an incredulous look. "The Snow Queen is very powerful. You've been in Arendelle for weeks. You've seen evidence of her work. What ridiculous flight of fancy made you think this would be easy?"

"This is too much. We need to negotiate a new deal."

"Very well." Anton's arm was a striking adder as his thin blade penetrated flesh and tendon to bisect the spinal cord. The big man jerked once before his eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled into a pile. Anton looked around at the seven remaining men. "Anyone else wish to negotiate? No? Good. Let's move."

. . .

. . .

Elsa blinked a few times. "Did … did one of them just kill one of their own?"

"That's what it looked like to me," answered Carlos. "You've doubtless heard of the lack of honor among thieves. I would be quite shocked to find the situation improved among assassins." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Perhaps they had a disagreement."

"Perhaps." She gnawed lightly on a fingertip and said, "I'd thought the golems would be more effective. I wanted them to scare off the invaders."

"Maybe they _**were**_ effective. Maybe the assassins had to kill one of the others as a warning to keep moving."

"Huh." She shook her head in distaste. "Sorry. My brain just doesn't work that way."

"And you may imagine my relief that it doesn't."

That pulled a tiny smile onto her lips. Briefly. She turned her attention to the group moving through the cellars. "They've reached the stairs."

Carlos studied Elsa's profile as she tracked their progress, finally saying, "Are you sure you want to trigger it yourself?"

She nodded silently.

"They're going up."

"Patience, sir. I want as many of them on the stairs as possible."

"Sensible."

"Thank you."

He could sense her trembling, though she did a yeoman's job of hiding it. He wasn't at all sure she would be able to consciously and directly cause the deaths of those men, and he opened his mouth to say something …

The ward on the door _pinged_. Elsa stared off into the middle distance for a few seconds, but then she pulled in a long breath and waved a hand to activate the trap's magic.

. . .

. . .

Radimir didn't like being underground, and heaved a silent sigh of relief when they approached the stairs to the first floor. Soon, soon they would be away from the bone-chilling cold and the damp and the niter and the unfeeling stone and the crumbling earth.

He directed the men, with Pavel in the lead, up the narrow flight of stairs that had been carved straight from the rock. The passage was hardly wider than one's shoulders, and while he wouldn't have admitted it under torture, Radimir suffered a bit of claustrophobia. He called to Pavel, "Is it locked?"

"Yes. Just give me a moment …" The final tumbler kicked over and the door swung open. Pavel lifted a foot and stepped into the antechamber.

Five large, sharp icicles slammed out of the wall just inside the door, reaching to the opposite wall. At the same instant five more sprang from the wall at the bottom of the flight. This effectively trapped all the men on the stairs, and they all began screaming.

The lowest of the top set of icicles had stabbed through Pavel's lower leg, between the fibula and the Achilles tendon, and the sudden pain was blinding. He reached back with his blade and chopped at the ice until he could get his injured limb free, then slumped to the floor.

In one-second intervals after the first icicles appeared, more emerged from the walls at the upper and lower ends of the stairs, gradually closing in toward the center. Twenty seconds later, of the seven men on the stairs, only Pavel had survived. Their group had been reduced to six, with one of them injured and cut off from the others.

Radimir had begun attacking the ice in earnest before the fourth set of gelid teeth appeared. He was _**going**_ up those stairs. He was _**not**_ going to let some backwater Ice Witch trap him in a cellar! Hammer! _**Hammer!**_ Break the ice! Get through! Shove a riddled body out of the way! Break more ice! Hammer! _**Hammer!**_

Nicolai watched with deep reservation as his Captain released his frenzy upon the remains of the trap. One of the blessed relics he had brought with him was a small tripartite mandala that he kept on a cord around his neck. It would glow and grow warm whenever it was near sorcery, but as it lay there in his hand, inert, it was dark and cold … so cold.

This magic was not sorcery. Did that mean that the Snow Queen … was of _Divine_ origin? It didn't seem likely, not given the stories they'd heard. And he could tell just by looking at her that she was not a troll or a kobold or a …

… or a …

… Wait.

The thought slammed into him like a maul.

Could she be _vila_? A true Spirit of Air?

A rapid chill ran up his back. Given the elemental nature of her magic, the Guild had assumed her to be a witch of some sort, perhaps in league with trolls. That she might be associated with the Fey had never occurred to any of them as even a remote possibility. Of course they knew all about the tales circulating through Arendelle concerning her powers and the Great Freeze and the Winterwarm and the Battle of the Five Ships. But the underlying feeling, and one which the Queen had apparently never contradicted, was that given the basically destructive nature of her powers (even though she had decided to use them for good) they _**had**_ to have come from a curse somewhere.

What if that was not the case at all? What if she truly was connected to the Court of the Bright Ones? In that eventuality, their assault was doomed for certain. He'd heard all about the Elves in his youth, having grown up in the care of his aged and very superstitious grandmother, well out in the hinterlands. Christianity had made only the most tenuous of inroads on the traditional religions, and she had followed the Way of Perun. So Nicolai knew all the old stories of the sun god and Veles, Jarilo and Morana, Svarog and …

_Morana! … Holy Hell! … Morana!_

Morana: ancient goddess of winter and death. The Queen of Ice. The Lady in Blue. She Who Walks in the Silence. He held his head, eyes clenched tight, dread rising in his chest. It made altogether too much sense. And it would be just like her to possess a Queen.

But … when he thought it over, it didn't really matter. Regardless of who (or what) they had to face, they had a contract to fulfill. Whether or not it was technically hopeless made no difference in the final analysis. Drawing a deep sigh, he looked around at the three remaining thugs they'd hired, noting the abject terror evident on all their faces. Two of them had vomited against the wall. Nicolai moved around to cut off their exit and pulled his blades. "Go on up."

They looked at him in disbelief. One whimpered. Another said, "Up there? You're full o' shit! No way in Hell am I …"

"The trap's already sprung. There's nothing you can do for your companions. Just be glad it wasn't you." Motioning with one blade, he continued, "We have a contract. You _**will**_ accompany us. You can take your chances up there, or you can die right here, right now. At this point I don't have a strong preference either way."

With reluctance pulling all their muscles into knots, the three skittered up the stairs, tripping over the disfigured corpses and trying not to scream. Nicolai followed. He would need to speak to the others.

. . .

. . .

The red sparks in the courtyard clustered around the front entrance.

"They'll need to touch the door to activate the ward, won't they?"

"Yes. Or I can do it for them." Rubbing at her face with both hands, she complained, "They were _supposed_ to run away _screaming._ God knows _**I**_ would after barely dodging thirty tons of ice!"

"They may yet."

Sadly, she shook her head. "Not, I fear, until more of them die."

He held up a finger for her attention. When she was looking into his eyes, he said, "This is a war, my Queen. And the first rule of war is that men die. If they don't want to die, they can run, and live. By staying and promoting the conflict, they have given up their claim to life or liberty."

She dropped her eyes, sniffed quietly and said, "You sound just like Karl XII."

"Who?"

"He was the King of Sweden at the beginning of last century. Fought Russia and Denmark a lot. He wrote a book about war and battle tactics."

"… How did _you_ happen to read such a book?"

"It was in Papa's library." She turned away and crossed her arms. He could just barely hear her sniff again. "And I … I had a lot of time on my hands."

Carlos felt his heart shatter to pieces in his chest at her words, and it nearly drove him to his knees. He wanted _**so badly**_ at that moment to comfort her, to mold her supple form tightly against him, to bury his face in that glorious hair and tell her that everything would be all right eventually, that they would get through this crisis and …

_And then what? After that, smart guy, what next? Are you thinking you'll just stick around? Think you'll get all cozy with Elsa after what you did to her mind …_

Viciously, Carlos pulled his thoughts out of that sucking quagmire, drew a long breath, and concentrated on what he had to do right then. "My Queen … I am so very sorry that your parents didn't understand how to deal with your powers. Even so, I think you have adapted amazingly well."

"I don't think I'd go that far."

"You are a stunning, dazzling success as the Queen of your nation. Your people love you. Excessively."

Pointing a slim finger in the direction of the courtyard, she countered, "Except for them."

"Pfft. In the first place, the criminal element doesn't count. In the second, they probably aren't Arendellians at all."

Turning back to him, her eyes widened. "You really think so?"

_Ah-ha! So __that's__ what has been worrying her! _"Absolutely. These are doubtless stragglers and leftovers from that obscene wave of scum that was threatening your kingdom's peace a week ago." He folded his hands together behind his back. "Had you thought they were simply disloyal citizens?"

"… I … um …"

"Perish the thought. I can state without fear of contradiction that you have …"

Another ping sounded in their minds and they turned their attention back to the fight. After a few seconds, Elsa said, "They're a lot closer."

"And a lot fewer. Five and two." He frowned. "It looks like those two are headed for my rooms."

"Isn't Juan there by himself?"

"Hmm. Technically, yes." He pointed at the shadowy diagram of the palace that floated in their midst. "But isn't that where you put that doppelganger?"

. . .

. . .

Miloslav's arm and forehead were still bleeding from the cuts he'd received when an ice statue exploded into a thousand flying knives. That was where they had lost the remainder of their henchmen. Anton was limping, his nearly-crushed foot shooting pains up his leg with each step. The folding-block trap he'd not quite avoided had been hideously effective.

They were very good, but they weren't perfect.

They _were_, however, almost to their goal: this hall contained the sorcerer's room.

Unlimbering the blessed-sliver grenades, they skulked down the passage in the semi-darkness. The nearly-full moon made the ice-covered windows glow, but there was no direct light and therefore no shadows. They were almost to the door when Anton caught sight of the Queen herself, hiding behind a pillar farther down the way. _That_, he thought as he motioned Miloslav to follow, _was most careless of her._ They moved swiftly in her direction, whereupon she took off running away. But they were much faster, and the hallway was long.

Miloslav pulled a strange device off his back, took aim, and fired an expanding net at the fleeing Queen. She must have heard its whistling approach because she turned and held up her hands as if to fire an icy blast. But it was too late. The webbing snaked around her, binding her tight and bringing her crashing to the floor. Anton jerked out a bottle of holy water as he ran up and splashed it into her face …

… where it melted through. That's when he noticed that she seemed to be made of snow.

"What the hell?"

"Gentlemen." The voice behind them spoke in French with an unusual accent.

The two assassins whirled, blades ready. Incredulously, Anton said, "You're that servant! What are you doing here?"

Juan lazily spun his bronze swords, grinning ear-to-ear. "I felt like a little sparring."

Anton snorted and flipped a contemptuous knife at him. Juan casually deflected it straight up, then as it descended gave it a mighty whack on the back end, sending it streaking back at Anton, who just barely managed to avoid getting stuck.

"So tell me," Juan asked conversationally, "how much did that mad Cardinal give you to embark on this little suicide mission?"

The assassins made no answer, but did glance at each other. How did a servant know about that?

"Because however much it was," he added, ambling in their direction, "it wasn't enough. You can't spend gold when you're dead."

"You'll soon know!" Miloslav lobbed a round, brightly sparkling object at their adversary. Juan, however, sprinted forward and hit the floor sliding on his stomach. The grenade sailed past, bounced on the floor, and exploded behind him, spattering his legs with hot holy water. A spinning shard of silver scored a line of red across his back.

He bounded back up in a trice and came at them, frowning darkly. "Okay, fun-time's over."

The assassins didn't have a spare moment to discuss the whys and wherefores of just how the blessed objects had so miserably failed to have any effect on the old man. They were much too busy trying not to get filleted.

Anton's footwork suffered badly from his injury, and Miloslav was limited to one sword due to his. Juan weaved an impenetrable wall of flashing bronze as he took their measure, learned their patterns, and devised counters.

Anton fell first. A doubled riposte had made him stumble back, his foot screaming at him from an unexpected twist, and he flinched badly. The opening gave Juan the chance to introduce the tip of his left sword to the assassin's left ventricle. He made a choked noise, folded up on himself and lay still.

After that, Juan really did simply spar for a few moments. Miloslav could tell, and it irked him more than he could express. He tried every trick he knew, but each was met and bested, leaving him with another shallow, dripping cut. Every handful of seconds awarded him a new wound. His sword hilt became slippery with his blood. His vision blurred in and out, the lithe, darting form of his opponent getting hazy …

He slipped on the wetted floor, tried to regain his balance, and slipped in the other direction. Juan's blade came down on the back of his hand, and his sword and three fingers fell to the flagstones. The last thing he (sort of) saw was the flat of the old man's weapon whistling toward his face.

. . .

. . .

Nicolai stood staring at the solid wall of ice filling the end of the hallway, feeling more useless and hollow than at any other time in his life. Radimir stared back at him from where he was held in the trap's transparent, frigid embrace, mouth open in a soundless scream, clawed fingers reaching toward a freedom they would never know.

They'd lost the last three thugs – and Pavel – on the floor below, sliced in pieces when razor-edged spinning discs of ice had erupted from the floor. With his wounded leg, he'd not been able to avoid them.

Dejectedly, the lone remaining assassin turned toward the Queen's rooms and trudged slowly up the hall. He had no doubt whatsoever that he was walking to his death, and was in no hurry to arrive. But with his last path of escape cut off, he had no other choice.

When he was still some ten paces from the door, it opened and the sorcerer stepped out. The two men stood still, regarding one another for half a minute. Finally, Carlos said, "There's only one way this is going to end."

"There may be two schools of thought on that."

The Spaniard smirked a little. "You know you _**could**_ save yourself a lot of grief and simply surrender."

"Or I could kill you first." He didn't sound very enthusiastic.

"I suppose the possibility exists. Though I wouldn't bet my life on it, were I you."

"That choice has been eliminated."

"You know the only reason you were able to hit me last time was that I was distracted. That won't happen again."

"… You recognize me?"

"I recognize your blades and your stance. You're the one I didn't kill."

"And you're the one who should be dead."

"Ah, yes. Poisoned blades. Fairly de rigueur for an assassin."

"And yet there you stand."

"Good breeding."

"Sorcery!" he spat.

That gave Carlos a mild shock. Eyebrows raised, he said, "You think I'm a sorcerer?" Mulling it over, he finally nodded slightly. "I suppose that would make sense, not having all the information."

"… Are you claiming _**not**_ to be a sorcerer? That's a lie! Anton saw you placing a spell upon the Queen!"

"Spell? What spell?"

"Yesterday. He had a telescope. Saw you through the window, standing behind her while she lay on a couch, casting your evil at her."

Carlos blinked at him, bemused. This 'fight' was going very differently from how he had imagined. "Yesterday. … On a couch? Wait … was there a blue glow involved?"

"Yes!"

Carlos actually laughed. Nicolai's face grew red.

"Who do you think set up all those traps you ran into? I was helping the Queen learn how to cast wards."

"… Wards?"

"Yes, wards. We could see you when you arrived, track your progress through the palace, keep note of when and how many deaths occurred. Your team has been very persistent. Insanely so, in my estimation."

"It is not insanity. It is dedication. And you are a sorcerer."

"I'm not, you know. I'm Fey-touched."

Nicolai froze. He said nothing as the seconds stretched out until finally, "You, too?"

"What do you mean, 'me, too'? You have no Fey blood."

"… the Queen …"

"Oh, you know about the Queen, then? If so, what made you think you could get to her?"

"We _didn't_ know at first. Thought she was just a witch. I … only tonight began to suspect she was … associated with the Bright Ones."

"Yes. A descendant. So you must understand the incredible levels of her power and the ultimate futility of your mission. You are, after all, the only one left. And we had not even bothered to stir from her room until your arrival here. In fact I could have simply let you get close enough to the door to activate its protective ward, which would have been _**highly**_ unpleasant for you … for the final few seconds of your life." He nodded toward Nicolai's blades. "Are you still determined to die for nothing?"

The assassin stared at him for the space of four heartbeats … then deliberately knelt and placed his swords on the floor. He unwound his head-scarf and tossed it aside. His flowing jacket followed. Then he began pulling weapons from various locations, making a small pile of them. Finally, he stood, holding one dagger and a small bottle. "Would you do one thing for me? This will settle my mind about your sorcery."

"That depends."

"This is holy water."

"Ah. Very well."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it? I'm a Christian. I have no demonic connection for it to disrupt."

Nicolai tossed him the bottle. Carlos pulled the stopper and sniffed it, determining that it was not poisoned. Then he poured some into his hand, dabbed a little on his face, and took a small sip.

The assassin deflated. "So it's true."

"It is. And I get it now. You thought you were facing a sorcerer. If you had been, armed as you were, you probably would have killed him. For that, I would have been grateful." He set the bottle on the floor and held out one hand, concentrating. A tiny ball of fire appeared, floating in the air above his palm.

Eyes growing very round, Nicolai asked, "What are you doing?"

Frowning hard at the fireball, Carlos muttered, "Taking precautions."

"… Precautions? Against what?"

The fire grew into a short column and began whirling madly, colors streaking through it. "Against what I think you're planning to do."

"Planning to …?" Nicolai's eyes widened as he understood. But by then it was too late. The knife in his hand suddenly glowed cherry red, and he dropped it with a curse. All the other blades followed suit, climbing quickly through the spectrum to a bright yellowy-white before slumping into a shapeless mass.

Nicolai dropped to his knees, staring at what was left of his weapons. "You aren't even going to leave me my dignity."

"In time, my good man, in time. You may kill yourself later, if that is your wish. First, we need to have a long chat about a certain man … a very _evil_ man who is wearing the red robe of a faith he knows not."

Elsa stepped out behind him. "I'm going to the courtyard."

"My Queen …!"

"No, Carlos. I have to do this. It is not necessary for anyone else to die.

He saw – and felt – her determination. "… Very well."

She walked over to stand before Nicolai where he slumped, defeated, her whirling ice magic hiding her hands. "I want you to know that I bear you no ill will, personally."

He nodded.

With a complicated wave of her fingers, thick bars of ice appeared around the assassin, caging him effectively. "But you must also understand that I am in complete control. Your life is mine."

"Yes, my Lady."

She nodded once and proceeded toward the block of ice holding Radimir. "Carlos, I'm going to clean up along the way."

"Very good, my Queen."

. . .

. . .

"Best three outta five! Come on, best three outta five!"

"Screw you, ya French bastard! You lost the toss. Now get over there and open the damn door."

Jacques DuPont, thief, late of Normandy and a resident of Arendelle these past three weeks, walked unsteadily up to the palace door, giving the gargantuan block of ice to his left a walleyed glance. Shuddering again, he pulled out his lockpick set.

With a resounding crash, all the windows on that side of the palace flew open, and most of the men in the courtyard gasped or screamed. Snow and ice began streaming from the windows, some of it pink, more of it streaked red. It whirled over their heads and settled into a great pile against the gate … blocking their only exit.

The front doors slammed open, knocking Jacques kiester over kopf, and a file of six armor-plated ice golems marched out and took flanking positions to either side. Elsa, Snow Queen of Arendelle strode between them, her pace stately, her countenance serene.

The men huddled together in a knot, sure they were about to die.

Elsa began a slow walk in their direction, and ice particles danced around her. With a careless gesture, she banished the colossal ice block. One of the men made a break for the wall, only to have some of the huge pile of snow turn into an icy claw and pluck him up to dangle four man-heights above the ground. It tossed him back to his buddies, who sort of caught him a little bit. He didn't hit _**too**_ hard. Maybe.

"You break into my home."

One slim hand raised shoulder high. Thick walls of black ice shot up out of the ground, surrounding the men on three sides.

"You wreck my gates."

She motioned with her other hand, and stout, icy bars sprang into being across the near side.

"You threaten my life."

A complex series of hand gestures ended with the formation of a row of living gargoyles around the top of the containment cell. They licked their frigid flews and growled in anticipation of meat. The men cowered as close to the center as they could manage.

She placed her hands on her hips and leveled her gaze at them, a small frown wrinkling the skin between her brows. "What, really, did you expect?"

They began jabbering, begging for mercy, blaming others, claiming loyalty …

She held up a hand. "Enough."

Quiet fell.

Placing her hands together behind her back, she began a slow pace back and forth in front of the cell, finally stopping and tapping a dainty foot for a minute. "Here, then, is my solution. You blew my gates to matchwood. You shall rebuild them. You will be chained together in groups of three for the duration of your punishment. You will work under the direction of master masons and carpenters, and you shall complete the repairs in one month. At the end of that time, you will be assigned to various fields and quarries in the area, and will toil at hard labor for the next two years. At the end of that time, each of you will be evaluated as to your behavior during your sentence, and you will either be freed and banished from Arendelle … or you will work another two years." She smiled at them, but it was a _satisfied_ as opposed to a _friendly_ smile. "Yes, I think that will do handsomely." And she made to re-enter the castle.

"Your Majesty!"

Stopping, she barely turned, giving them a one-quarter profile.

"Where will we live?"

"That does not concern you at present."

"But …"

She spun back around, eyes blazing white. The gargoyles set up a raucous howling and snarled at the men.

"Do _**not**_ test my patience." And she left.

. . .

. . .


	15. Contrition

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 14: Contrition**

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 27 July 1841, 4:30am_

"It's not really that bad, Your Majesty," Jørgen said, trying to console his Queen. "There are but a _twentieth_ as many as we had to deal with after the Battle of the Five Ships."

"Yes. I know," she muttered, pinching her forehead with a grimace. "I know that. But we can't simply pack this gaggle of goons off on a ship."

"They _are_ guilty of an attempt on your life, and it could easily be adjudged piracy. We could just execu-"

"**No!"**

The Captain's jaw snapped shut as sudden frost encased the floor and the walls. He realized his misstep at the same instant Elsa had exploded, and cursed himself for a fool. If everything the Spaniard had told him was true (and he had no reason to doubt the man), she'd seen enough death in this one night to last her several lifetimes … and had been responsible for most of it. That was an unconscionable burden to bear for one so inexperienced, and he would have gone to great lengths to spare her the pain. He had, in fact, tried to do just that … before she tossed him and everyone else out of the palace and made the final stand on her own. Well, her and de la Maria.

_An hour gone he had reported to his beloved Queen's study to find her sobbing as if every last thing in her life that carried any meaning had been burnt to ashes in front of her. Awkwardly he apologized and backed out hurriedly. If he never saw that again, it would be three days too soon. And de la Maria, that bastion of confident competence, pacing restlessly outside her chamber, had looked just as miserable and just as completely helpless as Jørgen felt, a situation he had thought nigh onto impossible. He strongly suspected some sort of magical link between them that would make each privy to the thoughts, or at least the feelings, of the other. That would explain much._

Jørgen swallowed the rest of his sentence and stood silently, waiting on his Queen's further instructions. Controlling herself with some difficulty, Elsa drew a long breath and continued, "I already told them what I was going to do with them. But I didn't have time to think it through very thoroughly beforehand, and now … I don't know. Can it even be safe to inflict some of these ruffians on innocent farmers and quarrymen?"

_Ah! This, at least, I can remedy!_ "We will see to it that their chains are sufficient, Your Majesty. And I believe we can spare ten or a dozen of the Watch to stand guard duty over them, at least until we can figure out which ones need it more than others."

Sighing heavily, she leaned her head against the back of her tall chair and closed her eyes. "Yes. I suppose that will have to do, won't it?" Peeking at the walls with one eye, she gave a frustrated huff and banished the ice. _Damned powers._ Blinking then, she chastised herself for the lapse. She should keep vulgarities from her language, even in her thoughts. It was just another facet of how she had to live her life, how she managed to maintain control over the blasts of arctic rage she could unleash with the slightest exercise of will.

She was just so very Tired Of It All. For the love of God, she was twenty-two years old! What was she doing running a kingdom?

_Now, now_, her sensible side reminded her, _you've had the training, the schooling, and the example of your father. Many people younger and much less prepared than you have been thrust into that position._

Yes, but did they have to contend with ice powers that could destroy their kingdoms?

_You've done well so far. The people of Arendelle are behind you. They love you, idiosyncrasies and all._

Maybe so. But I need a break. A real break.

_After the wedding …_

"My Queen, by your leave, I will go and make arrangements with Donal the Smith."

That brought her out of her brown study. "Donal? The Scot?"

"Yes. He's quite the genius at making restraining devices. I think he would be perfect for the triple-shackle we'll require to carry out your orders."

"… Very well." She watched as he left, then rubbed her tired eyes … and froze.

The wedding!

The wedding was in five days! _Five!_ A highly structured formal ceremony, laden with centuries of intricate tradition, was taking place on Sunday. A ceremony followed by a huge blowout of a celebration that would center around the sendoff of the happy couple on their honeymoon trip to Corona, and would peripherally involve nearly a hundred dignitaries, ambassadors, and royals of one stripe or another. And the entire proceeding had been completely halted while she dealt with this Guild-of-Assassins mess.

Accompanied by a deep groan, her head dropped to the desk. But it only stayed there for a moment before she jerked back up. Anna! Glancing at the clock, she tried to calm her racing heart. Okay. It was not yet five. Surely her sister, the legendary slugabed, would still be asleep. _If she had gone to sleep at all,_ whispered a nagging voice. _After all, __you__ haven't._

Shut up.

That would be her first order of business, then. She needed to talk to Anna and get everything out in the open, aired out and settled. She walked to the door and stuck her head out. The two guards immediately turned her way and snapped to attention. Pointing at the one on the left, she said, "Kindly run down to the new hotels and find Princess Anna. If she is already awake, I would like to see her as soon as she has the time."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" And he jogged off, one of his greaves squeaking loudly with each step.

At that instant, her stomach voiced a lengthy protest over how much time had passed since her last meal. Blushing to her roots, she turned to the other guard (who was heroically fighting down a grin) and said, "I believe I will break my fast now."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The very picture of straight-backed dignity, she walked down to the nearest stairway and descended toward the kitchen.

. . .

. . .

_6:30am_

_What I most desperately need,_ thought Elsa, _is about ten hours of sleep._ But she knew not to bet on the odds of that happening … not with Anna as wound up as she currently was. And the really sad part of the whole rant was that she was making a lot of sense, which made Elsa feel like the worst sister ever.

"… had shown even just a _**tiny**_ little bit of consideration for _**my**_ concern! _'Is there anything I can do?'_ I asked. _'I'm your sister, we've been through Hell together and you can tell me anything,'_ I said. And what do I get? You d-didn't even _tal-talk_ to me!" She gulped back a sob. "The first I …" She had to pause for a deep breath. "… first I knew of what you and your Spaniard were up to was when the Guard came to my … my room and hustled me outta the freakin' _p-palace!_" The tears had been making intermittent appearances for the last several minutes, and were currently wetting her cheeks. "They wouldn't let me see you! Said it was on your orders! What the hell was I supposed to think?! I'll tell you what: **'Not again!' **that's what! Damn it, Elsa, you know how I … how it feels when …" She choked off another sob and crossed her arms tightly, not facing her sister.

Elsa thought that Anna, having had a twenty-minute rant to work through some of what she wanted to say, _might_ not hit her if she hugged the girl, so that's what she did, walking quietly up behind her and wrapping her in a soft embrace while murmuring, "I'm so sorry."

_*sniff*_ "Well you should be. _*sniffle*_

"I really wasn't thinking straight. Too many things happening at once and …"

Anna mumbled, "Just go off and leave me completely in the dark. _*sniff*_ Didn't know if you were trying to just - _*snuffle* _\- sacrifice yourself for the kingdom or – or – or thought you had to face 'em alone because … because …" She whipped around and grabbed Elsa fiercely around the waist. "I **told** you not to be such a damned hero! I **told** you you're the best thing to ever happen to this kingdom!" Turning her head upward so that Elsa could see her red-rimmed and leaking eyes, she said, "Did you think I was pulling your leg? You can't risk yourself like that! You just can't. We can't do without you, Elsa. _**I**_ can't do … can't even _think_ about …" Burying her face in Elsa's shoulder, she let the tears have their way. And Elsa simply held her, stroking her long, loose hair and making small, soothing sounds.

Finally Anna said, "I've only had you back for a year and a little." She drew a couple of long breaths. "And we have so much more … so many more things to do together and, and … and so much to tal-talk about and … I can't do it again. Can't … can't lose you … again. _Won't_ lose you again." She pulled back far enough to catch Elsa's eye. "I won't. I won't let you shut me out again."

"No." Elsa tightened her hug, leaning her cool cheek against her sister's agitated brow. "Never. Never again. Promise."

"You have to tell me!"

"I will."

"You can't get rid of me that …"

"I don't _want_ to get rid of you! Was just trying to keep you safe."

"I'll be safe with_ you!_ Or I won't be! I don't care, and it doesn't matter!"

"I know." She dropped a kiss on Anna's forehead. "I was wrong. I know. I will never leave you out again," she promised, her own eyes brimming.

Anna stared at her for a second. "You swear?"

"Yes."

"You swear on Mother and Father's graves?"

Elsa gazed at her solemnly, the gravity of her promise coming home to her in a rush and bringing a wave of heat to her cheeks. "I do. Absolutely. No matter what sorts of dangers come to Arendelle, I swear to you that we will face them together."

That stare held for another few seconds before Anna nodded. "Okay, then." She gave Elsa one more rib-cracking hug and let her go. "I trust you."

"Good."

"Now," and here she popped Elsa on the arm hard enough to make her flinch, "you can _start_ by telling me what happened! All anybody knows is that there were more assassins and you herded everybody out of the palace and set every last soul in the Watch and the Guard to protect the hotels because you didn't want anyone else to get hurt." She poked a finger at Elsa. "Even though that left _you_ completely unprotected!"

"That's … well, sort of true." She stifled a yawn and clenched her eyes shut against her growing fatigue. She'd had maybe three hours of sleep in the last forty, and none of that recently, and her ley-line fueled energy burst had worn off over an hour ago. "We weren't exactly defenseless."

"Yeah, apparently. So what all went on after Carlos showed you that ward thingy? I know you set some up around the palace. You told me that much." It was then that she finally noticed the disarray evident in Elsa's braid. Reaching over and taking its length in her hands, she gave it a critical eye. "Hold up. We need to fix this first. If you're gonna be addressing the people later, you gotta look the part of the regal Queen, right?"

"Addressing? … What do you …"

"Oh, you have to. Sooner the better, and the explanations will have to be good." She took the bindings out of Elsa's braid and began separating the locks. "There's a lot of scared people out there. All those guards that got killed? I'd say maybe one out of twenty in Arendelle lost a family member or a friend to those assassin bastards, and they need to know what you did about it. I know you said they were killed … somebody did say that, didn't they? Am I remembering that right?"

"All but one."

She looked alarmed. "He didn't get away, did he?"

Elsa shook her head. "Carlos made him surrender. He's in a special cell I created just for him. The ice is much harder and tougher than steel, and it's warded so that if something does happen to break it, I'll know." She dimpled very slightly. "Besides, our talented _hidalgo_ is … interrogating him."

"And he can't get out? Can't pick the lock?"

"There is no lock. There's no door, for that matter, just a tight lattice of super-hard ice. So unless he can turn himself into something really small, he's going nowhere."

"Sounds perfect." Her gaze wandered in the general direction of the window. "Guess we should've kept Hans in something like that."

"I would agree. But we kind of got off-topic." Her brow furrowed in thought. "You are right, of course. Things have been … distracting me lately. But I _must_ make an announcement."

"And before you do that, I need to get your hair into Queen mode." She strode to her vanity and grabbed a comb and two brushes, then flounced over to her bed, climbed up so that she was leaning against the headboard, patted the coverlet in front of her, and said. "Sit."

Elsa meekly took the seat, and Anna attacked the thick, platinum blonde wealth. She whistled. "This stuff is so soft!" She peeked around to get into Elsa's peripheral vision and grinned. "What does Carlos think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"Your hair! The way it feels. He _has_ run his fingers through it, hasn't he?"

"No!"

"Sheesh, it's just a question," said Anna, a little put out at the vehemence of Elsa's denial. "No need to get bent out of shape over it."

"… I'm not … bent out of shape. That was … I wasn't … it was a funny question."

"Funny?"

"It caught me off guard."

"Seems like a normal enough question to me."

Elsa didn't respond right away. She was nervously knotting the sash on her robe, which made Anna ask, "So he hasn't touched your hair _at all?_"

Elsa's eyes darted around the room for a moment before she admitted, "We, ah … haven't touched."

Anna stopped and stared at the back of her sister's head. Then she scooted around to face her. "Not even a little bit? Not even once?"

"… um …"

"Wait … you mean to tell me he hasn't even, like, held your hand?"

"... No?"

"He must be made of solid rock! And you never, like, stumbled into him accidentally-on-purpose?"

Elsa's furious blush told Anna all she needed to know.

A devious grin bloomed on her face. "My, my. We most certainly will have to fix this." With that, she moved back around behind Elsa and went back to work with a brush.

"… Fix? What fix? I don't see where there's anything that needs fixing."

"Oh, come _**on**_! You two are _**nuts**_ about each other! What's crazy is that you haven't kissed him yet, much less even held hands!"

Seldom had Elsa's face felt so hot. "Crazy or not, it's the truth," she replied stiffly. "And I don't have a problem with it."

Anna dropped the brush and snaked her arms around her sister's shoulders, leaning her forehead against the blonde mass. "El … I'm really sorry you felt like you had to isolate yourself all those years. I know it must have been horribly difficult …"

"That's one way to put it."

"Hmm." She nuzzled the back of Elsa's neck. "But you don't have to do that anymore. You've _got_ control and you _won't_ hurt anybody and you _don't_ have to be afraid to touch or be touched." She giggled. "I mean, by somebody other than me."

Elsa raised her hands and wrapped her fingers around Anna's forearms. Then she whispered, "You're … safe."

At that, the redhead gave a full laugh. "I'm safe? The Klutz of the Kingdom? Just because I haven't tripped into you in a week doesn't make me safe."

Elsa yawned again, widely, and replied, "You're _emotionally_ safe."

Anna leaned her chin on Elsa's shoulder. "Yeah, I know that's what you meant." She gave her a squeeze. "I guess that's something else we'll have to work on."

"One thing at a time. You have a …" A huge yawn interrupted her, pulling both her hands up to cover it. "… sorry … a wedding coming up in five days, and we aren't quite done with the planning. This assassination nonsense really derailed our efforts."

"Didn't it just." Anna gave her a disbelieving look and picked up the softer brush. "Not to mention threatening your life."

"That, too. At least Jørgen and Carlos are handling the cleanup. That's one worry off my mind." She closed her eyes and leaned a little into the brush. "That feels _**so**_ nice."

"You deserve some 'nice' once in a while."

"Mm."

"Oh, speaking of the wedding, while we were stuffed into that hotel yesterday, Penny found me and insisted, believe it or not, that we discuss the dress. That Cockney accent of hers drives me bonkers. I thought she had it all finished, but there was some kind of mix-up with the laces she wanted to use on the back and she didn't have what she thought she had so she was gonna substitute another one except it was a different shade of off-white and she wanted to know if I'd mind. There." She admired her work, and the gleaming fall of platinum blonde. "That part looks good."

"… Mm."

Anna separated another thick handful and plied her brush. "She had a fabric swatch with her, and the laces, and for the life of me I couldn't really tell why she'd worry. The laces were maybe a tenth of a shade further over toward ivory than the light cream on the swatch, and honestly I can't imagine how anyone would ever notice. There won't be that many people close enough to even see 'em, much less do a color comparison. Like I would care. Does she even know me at all? We've spent, gosh, prob'ly thirty or forty hours in each other's company and the only thing she'll talk about is dress-dress-dress. And I just want it all to be _over_ already and off on my honeymoon gettin' all kinds of pregnant. You need a niece."

"… . . . … mm."

"At least you can make your own ice dress to go with anything, and pick whatever color you want, mostly. I think that would be so cool if …"

Elsa's head fell over and bumped softly into her shoulder.

"El?"

"… zzzzz …"

Anna gave her sister a keen look and nodded to herself. "Poor thing's worn to a nub. Too much excitement to sleep. She did say she was up most of the night taking care of details after the assassins came back." Carefully she worked herself out from behind Elsa and laid her down on the coverlet, being sure to position the pillow just right. "You just sleep, sis. Can't do your Queen thing up right if you're too tired to keep your eyes open. The announcement can wait 'til this evening."

She got up and put away the comb and brushes, then stretched hugely herself. "Y'know, come to think on it, I didn't have much sleep myself. Too keyed up." She stood and contemplated her sister for a bit, looked over at the clock, which was showing ten-til-seven, shrugged, and muttered, "We've got time. And the bed's plenty big enough." Then she climbed on behind Elsa, got into a comfortable spoon, and was asleep in minutes.

. . .

. . .


	16. Illumination

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 15: Illumination**

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 27 July 1841, 10:45am_

Kai and Kristoff looked up as the door to the smaller dining room creaked open to admit a very bedraggled Queen and Princess. Kai's face quirked when he saw the pink, quilted robe Elsa wore: it was one of Anna's, and just the slightest bit short on her. _Why is she wearing that? What happened to her ice dress? Why is she barefoot?_ The two women stumbled and shuffled over to the table, Anna's mouth gaping open in a huge yawn and Elsa rubbing repeatedly at her eyes. They each pulled out a chair and flopped down. Elsa's head immediately cradled on her forearms, her eyes dropping closed. Anna made a few smacking noises, attempted vainly to push her wild, strawberry-blonde mane into some sense of order, and then finally seemed to notice the two men. She blinked a few times and then jumped up and shrieked, "**Kristoff!**"

Elsa jerked backward in a spasm and her chair tumbled over.

The Royal Ice Harvester-slash-Deliverer was around the table at once, helping Anna to get her sister righted. The Queen, for her part, looked around dumbly and asked, "What?"

"Kristoff's here!"

"… Oh." Clenching her eyes shut for a moment, she then blearily peered up at Anna and inquired, "Does he have to be here so loudly?"

"Sorry! Sorry! It's just that I haven't seen him in a couple of days and I knew he wasn't in the hotel with me and …" Anna pulled on Elsa's arm, trying to coax her back into her chair, which Kai had thoughtfully set back upright. But in stepping back the Princess put a foot down on the trailing corner of the tablecloth, and slipped, landing abruptly on her kiester and yanking Elsa with her so that she ended up lying face-down across the seat.

Everyone froze. (Not, as might be the case with this bunch, literally.)

Elsa, her voice somewhat muffled by the cushion, stated, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd appreciate it if you all stopped helping me. Just for a minute or two."

With several apologies, the other three backed off and waited respectfully while the Queen got herself situated. A deep breath was followed by a sigh and then a not-quite-suppressed yawn. "Now. Why don't we all sit?" She patted the chair to her right. "Kristoff, why don't you take this place?" He quickly and quietly sat. "Now, Anna," she said, turning to her sister and indicating the chair to her left, "if you would?" The Princess dropped onto the cushion, staring at Elsa.

Kai had been edging toward the door, but stopped at Elsa's suddenly-raised eyebrow. "Kai? You aren't done with your breakfast, are you?"

"Ahhhm … no, Majesty."

"There are no others around to impress. Why don't we just make it 'Elsa' … you know, the way you did for so many years?"

"Very well. I did want to finish my sausages." He came back and resumed his seat, pushing Kristoff's plate across the table to him.

"Good." She proceeded to place a boiled egg and a small piece of baked cod on her plate.

Kristoff offered, "There's cider, too."

"Indeed? Well, that seems just the thing, doesn't it?"

The big man retrieved the crock of juice and poured some into Elsa's glass. She nodded her thanks. Then he hurried to do the same for Anna, who hadn't ceased her close observation of her sister. Once her glass was full, the younger girl absently felt for it, nearly knocked it over, then grabbed and lifted it and took a long sip, never blinking, whereupon Elsa canted her head around toward her. "Do I have something on my face?"

Anna, her expression tense, said, "I'm watching for signs of concussion."

"… Concuss…" Rolling her eyes, the Queen scoffed. "I didn't hit my head, Anna. There's no chance of concussion if one doesn't hit one's head."

"How should I know what you hit? You just went sprawling and …"

"Yes, it was quite something, I'm sure. But you mentioned, right after Gerda woke us, that you were completely starved." She used a knife to point out the various dishes on the table. "Here is the answer to your complaint. I'm sure you can occupy yourself admirably."

As if seeing it all for the first time (not likely) and finally realizing what was sitting in front of her (completely likely) Anna grinned in delight and began scooping various victuals onto her plate.

They all ate in silence for most of a minute. Kai finished his meal, dabbed at his mouth with a cloth, and inquired, "Did you sleep well this morning, Maj- um, Elsa?"

With a soft sigh, she shook her head. "Not so well. My dreams were … troubled."

Anna poked the air with her fork. "With all the crap you've been through in the last few days, it's no wonder! You totally wouldn't have slept at all if you hadn't been flat-out exhausted."

"Sadly, I believe that to be true." She placed the last bit of her cod on her tongue and chewed thoughtfully, then eyed the rest of the platters, finally choosing a small sticky roll.

"I had agitated to allow you to sleep until noon," Kai volunteered, "but Gerda felt that you would want more time to prepare an address to the populace."

That soured the Queen's expression. "Yes, well, that has to be done, doesn't it?"

"Toldja," retorted Anna.

"Yes. I recall."

Kristoff muttered, "Address? About what?"

Anna huffed, "Those assassin bastards."

"Ah."

Elsa turned her gaze his way. "You have something to add?"

"Um … no?"

She popped the last of the sweet roll into her mouth and studied her soon-to-be brother-in-law while she chewed and swallowed. "What's your reaction to the late unpleasantness?"

"I beg your pardon?" He'd learned to use that phrase early and often in his quest to shed his troll manners and become at least somewhat presentable in court.

"You're a good example. You weren't directly involved, but you know people who were. You lost a friend to their attacks …"

He held up two fingers.

"Two?"

"Bernt Horn and Josef Carlson."

"Oh. I am sorry. I didn't realize you knew Mr. Horn."

"A lot of people knew him. He was a real jokester. Pulled some of the most amazing, complicated pranks I ever heard of."

"Oh."

"Group of us are planning to meet at the Cook and Kettle for a pre-funeral … um … what do you call it?"

"I'm, ah, not sure. What sort of gathering is it?"

"Uh, you know. Tell stories about him. Drink some toasts."

"Drink a LOT of toasts," added Anna, giving him the eye.

Elsa fought down a smirk. "So, a memorial of sorts?"

"Yeah! That!"

"Very well. What, then, is your reaction, personally, to the fact that the royal family of Arendelle was targeted by an assassins' guild, who murdered nine citizens in the attempt?" Six of the deceased in question, the ones killed in the wee hours of Saturday morning during the first incursion, were currently lined up on a bier in the cathedral, wrapped in their shrouds. Various family and friends were holding vigil, consoling one another in their grief. The three most recent victims, who had died early the day before, were currently being prepared for burial, a task that the bishop's staff normally would oversee. The funeral service had originally been planned for this day, but the additional murders and the attack on the palace had postponed that.

Kristoff's brow darkened considerably. "My answer's gonna be the same as every other man in Arendelle. Those assho- um, those, uh, jerks want to play at murder-for-hire, they better know we'll be ready for 'em next time. Me? I want some payback."

"I had thought as much." She couldn't quite resist the slight swell of pride in her heart at the thought of such bravery and loyalty in her kingdom's people. "Then let me add another kink to the story."

"Kink?"

"We know who hired them."

He sat up very straight, his eyebrows climbing. Oddly, it had not yet occurred to Kristoff to wonder about that. "Who?"

"A highly-placed Cardinal at the Vatican. Cardinal Papella, the Pope's personal secretary."

Kristoff knew a little bit about the Roman Catholic Church, and got a deep frown going. "Isn't the Pope, like, the big guy in charge?"

"He is."

"What's his beef with you?"

"Oh, it's not the Pope. According to Carlos, Pope Gregory hasn't made any sort of statement about me or my powers, and may not even know they exist. But Cardinal Papella, for some reason, wants me dead."

The door had opened while she finished that last sentence, and the man she'd just referenced strode in. Elsa's resulting smile rivaled the sun streaming in the eastern windows.

Carlos walked up to the table, his expression sober. "He doesn't just want you dead, my Queen."

Her smile fled. "What?"

"They were here to capture you, not kill you."

"Wha- capture? But … but why?"

"The Cardinal wanted you taken to Rome, tortured, tried as a witch, and burned at the stake."

A distinct chill made its way around the room.

"Burned?" whispered Anna.

"Tortured?" whispered Kai.

He nodded. "That was their contract. But a lot of things have changed over the last day. I've been, ah, having a chat with the lone remaining assassin. He's a fascinating character." Turning slightly to point at Elsa, he continued, "I think, given what I've learned of his history and association with the Assassins' Guild, it would only take a slight nudge to turn him into one of your most loyal subjects."

"… You have GOT to be kidding."

Kristoff and Anna objected simultaneously as well, but Carlos held up his hands. "Please! I know how that sounds, really I do. But hear me out."

Elsa crossed her arms, her lips pursed in that 'okay, convince me' look.

"This guy, his name's Nicolai, hails from the Ural Mountains. His family is pagan, and he has decided that you, my Queen, are the living avatar of their goddess of winter and death."

"… What?"

"Indeed. Originally they thought you were some kind of witch. That was what that leaking sack of excrement that hired them had stated. Oh, and by the way, the Cardinal considered your capture to be worth a hundred and fifty _**pounds**_ of gold."

Everyone's eyes got round. Anna gasped, "That's … that's, like … holy shit!"

"Anna!"

"Sorry, Elsa." She had the grace to blush. But then she turned back to Carlos and said, "That's a freakin' fortune!"

"It is. And as such, I doubt that he used his own funds. It is likely he appropriated the money from some Church fund. Yet another reason to see to it that he shuffles off this mortal coil in the near future."

"Well," said Elsa quietly, "that's disturbing. If they were paid that much …"

Anna, her lip trembling, took her hand. "They won't likely give up."

"Ordinarily that would be true," answered Carlos, "and that was Nicolai's first thought as well, but in this case, perhaps not."

"Why?" Kristoff wanted to know. "With a fortune that size at stake, you don't think they'd just give up and give it back, do you?"

"Not under any circumstances. But the terms of their contract are quite specific, and the Cardinal made what I think will turn out to be a very serious oversight." He chuckled. "What the large print giveth, the fine print taketh away."

Elsa frowned at that. "What do you mean?"

"In the contract he repeatedly refers to you as a witch. As we all know, that is in _no way_ accurate. But that's the information he gave them, and the information upon which the contract was based. According to Nicolai, the fine print states that if the contractor misrepresents a key element of the job, the Guild can vacate the contract and keep the money. It's at their discretion, of course, but in this case I think they'd jump at the chance to do so."

"Huh? Why would they?" asked Anna.

"Because Nicolai, at this very moment, is writing a letter to the Guild explaining just how big a mess they've gotten themselves into. You know how lopsided the contest turned out to be. They all died except for him, and he would have, too, if I hadn't intervened. Our beloved Queen's ice powers have him convinced beyond doubt that she's a goddess."

A nonplussed Elsa just blinked at him.

Anna said, "Okay. So. She's a goddess or whatever. So they won't want to try to kill a goddess?"

"Not after Nicolai explains that such a goal would be suicide. He's, ah, very passionate about it now."

"Passionate or not," objected Kristoff, "he still killed those guards. He still has to die."

"Um … actually, he didn't kill anybody. Not in Arendelle, that is. Obviously he's killed on other contracts, but this time he didn't get the chance."

"Whadda you mean?"

"There were four of them that broke in last Saturday, two named Ivan, one who went by Georg and Nicolai. Georg, he's the one I took out first, was working on the Queen's door when I got there. He was a poison specialist, and was trying to insinuate some knockout gas into her room. It was the Ivans that killed all the guards."

Kristoff insisted, "But he was with 'em."

"Yes. Yes, he was." Carlos's countenance became troubled. "And while normally I wouldn't go for leniency in such a case … well. Hmm." He stroked his chin while pacing, thinking things over. "He did try to kill me, and certainly would have carried out his mission if he'd been able to. He's not an intrinsically _good_ man."

"Yes, well," observed Kai, "the taking of innocent life for pelf basically being the antithesis of good will, I'd say that was a true and accurate statement."

Elsa couldn't quite suppress a grin at his exceptionally dry delivery.

"Indeed. But the way things stand now, with their mission having failed and him being the only survivor, the Guild will kill him if they get the chance."

"Seriously?" Anna blurted. "That seems kinda … stupid. I mean, come on, everybody makes mistakes."

"The Guild doesn't admit to mistakes. For them, reputation is everything. Even if they believe and act on the letter he's writing, they won't forgive him for failing."

"Uh-huh. Like I said: stupid."

"I can't completely disagree with you on that. But that's the way they operate. It's how they are able to charge the outrageous fees they do. They never make mistakes, and if something does happen to derail their mission, everyone involved is killed. They go into every scenario starkly aware of that fact. It makes them, ah, vigilant in their execution."

"Harsh."

"Yes. One doesn't join that Guild on a lark."

Elsa had been pondering his earlier claim. "You said he was ready to … how did you put it? 'Become my most loyal subject' or words to that effect. Is that right?"

"Correct. Though I think it may go somewhat deeper than that. He twice mentioned offerings."

"Offerings? What, like a tithe?"

"No. It's more like he wants to build you a shrine. For worship."

"… Excuse me?"

"He thinks you're a major goddess. He as much as said that killing you wouldn't have done any good and that their mission was a bust before it ever started because you'd just reincarnate and then come after them. How else would you expect him to react?"

To say that Elsa had never been in quite that situation wouldn't be stretching the point at all. "Does … wait. Does he know about _**your**_ powers?"

"He does. I demonstrated them. I even explained our shared heritage." A dry chuckle preceded, "But apparently I'm just an underling. Not that I disagree, but it would seem that this goddess of winter and death holds a primary place in their pantheon. Fire spirits are beneath her notice."

"My word."

Kristoff turned to her. "Please tell me you're not seriously considering letting this killer live."

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

"Elsa?" Anna put a tentative hand on her sister's arm. "Elsa, he tried to kill you. He's a professional assassin. You can't …"

"Just … just give me a minute." Taking several measured breaths, she turned her troubled gaze to Carlos. "This Nicolai. Couldn't he be making it all up?"

"Ah. No. Another trick Hamaraja taught me was how to tell if someone is lying, which is something else I'd like to teach you when you have the time. If I'm concentrating, it's impossible to lie to me. He wasn't even making the attempt."

Another few breaths passed in silence. "How does Jørgen feel about this?"

Carlos sighed. "The good Captain wants to put him on the rack for a few days to break him into easily-disposed-of pieces. He lost more friends than any other man in the city, and is quite bitter. Not that I blame him."

She mumbled, "You could've just fibbed about that one."

He frowned, took a step toward her and knelt, his intense, black eyes fixed on her wide, blue, startled ones. "My Queen. I will never lie to you. Ever. About anything, large or small."

Taken aback by his declaration, she fidgeted with her hands. "Yes. Of course. I … I know that."

A frustrated Anna demanded, "Well, do _**you**_ really think he really ought to be left alive? Really? That's screwed up."

His gaze never leaving Elsa's face, he answered, "As it is not my life at stake, it is not my place to say. I believe our Queen should make the final decision on that."

Another frisson ran through her at his nearness. She looked around at the others and drew a long breath. "I believe I have some … thinking to do." Standing, she moved a few steps away from the group. "And I believe I would like to be alone to do it."

. . .

. . .

_11:30am_

"Hah-hah! Can't catch me!"

Lene huffed in frustration as she chased after her big brother. "You give Magda back!"

"Aw, poor Magda." Eight-year-old Torgeir had climbed to the top of a stone wall and balanced easily, a trick he knew his six-year-old sister couldn't match. "She looked so lonely!"

The wall, nearly twice her height and slippery with moss, presented an obstacle she could in no wise conquer. But quite a few small stones had fallen out of the wall's face over the years, and she was at least as good a shot with one as Torgeir. She hefted one half the size of her fist and warned, "You give Magda back right now or I'll knock you off!"

He pulled a face at her, then narrowly dodged the rock, almost losing his footing. Quickly stepping away down the wall, he kept one eye on the dark pigtails and one on the slick rocks.

Her third stone pelted him in the lower back, and he went to his knees, eyes shut against the tears of pain. "Stop it, Lene!"

"Give me back my doll!"

He was nearly to the point where the old wall joined the dilapidated building that had been a stable many decades earlier. He knew there was a hole in the roof …

… Except there wasn't. Someone had repaired it, very recently. Absently, he set the doll down on the wall and crawled the rest of the way to the roof. Sure enough, new shingles covered the hole, but they'd been carefully painted dark gray to match the old ones around them. Curious.

"Tor! Give me Magda!"

"Hold on, Lene."

His voice no longer being either sing-song or pained got her attention. "What's up there? What do you see?"

He poked at the roof and scrambled down, bringing the doll with him and tossing it carelessly to his sister. "Somebody's using the stable."

"What for?"

"I dunno. Let's find out."

Mollified that she'd gotten her doll back with a good bit less trouble than usual, she followed Torgeir around to the door. They discovered that portal to be a new-painted-old replacement as well. "That's weird. Why would somebody paint a new door to look old?"

Lene shrugged. "Guess we can't get in."

Torgeir pulled on the latch, but the door seemed to be barred from the inside. "Shoot."

Lene went over to one of the small, narrow windows and tried to see in, but it, too, had been blocked with a piece of wood. She stood on tiptoe and tried to push it, but couldn't quite reach. "Tor! Come push on this!"

He trotted over and leaned in, pressing his palm against the rough plank. "Sorry Lene. Looks like it's nailed."

"But I wanna see inside! What if there's somebody living in there?"

"Who'd do that?"

"I dunno." She jumped up and down. "I wanna see!"

"Hold on." He ran around to the left side of the building. Sure enough, there was still that pile of rotting lumber leaning against the wall. He tested it for stability (jumped on it a few times) and then climbed to the top. There was a small gap between the top of the wall and the roof, where the rafters came through, and he stuck his head up in it.

"What do you see?"

"It's dark. Wait a minute, 'til I can see."

Lene was straining to listen to him, and so heard a slight scratchy noise from inside. "Tor! There's somebody in there!"

"Huh? How'd you know?"

"I can hear 'em!"

"Well I can't see 'em. Maybe it's just a squirrel. You know they have nests in there."

The noise came again. Lene started bouncing on one foot. "Tor, come on! What if it's a monster?"

He considered that. "Monsters live in the woods."

"Maybe one got in!"

"Why would a monster paint a door?"

"To get you to try to go inside! Then he'll eat you! Come on!"

The lumber shifted under his feet, and he very quickly scrambled back down. "Okay. Maybe you're right." The old building suddenly looked a lot more ominous, and Torgeir wanted to be somewhere else. "Last one home is monster food!"

She shrieked and ran after him.

More than a minute passed before something shifted the plank to one side and a baleful green eye peered out. After making sure that no one else was around, Hans reattached the board and slunk back to the small workroom in the corner. He picked up a sword and a honing stone and resumed his careful sharpening of the blade.

. . .

. . .


	17. Visitation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: I apologize for the lapse of time between posts. Hopefully the bit of extra length here will make up for it._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 16: Visitation**

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 27 July 1841, 3:50pm_

Really, the general address to the populace didn't turn out half bad.

A good breakfast notwithstanding, the all-too-short nap the sisters had taken that morning hadn't really left either of them feeling refreshed, but shortly before lunch Elsa had been able to sneak down to the wine cellar and recharge herself a bit from the ley line. That way, she could concentrate on what she'd wanted to say to everyone (and stay awake during her speech).

Elsa kept it simple, only outlining the bare bones of what had happened. She listed those citizens of Arendelle who had died, and gave a basic timeline of the two assaults the assassins had made, and who was involved (as far as she knew). Also emphasized was the fact that they had been hired by a foreign agency who, for reasons that were still being investigated, wanted her dead. She stated that the identity of said agency was now known, and that steps were being taken to prevent further conflict. Finally, the Queen apologized for the inconvenience that everyone had suffered, and announced that there would be a ball on Wednesday evening as a bit of a recompense for all the inconvenience. That news was met with a rousing cheer.

She pulled off that 'queenly bearing' thing beautifully, never once stumbled over a word, and Anna couldn't have been prouder of her sister.

While the guests were certainly not happy about having been bundled so abruptly into the not-quite-as-well-appointed hotels, they all seemed to understand that the Queen was only thinking of their safety. Fortunately, and entirely unbeknownst to Elsa, Olaf had showed up as the transfer was being made, found out from a guard what was going on, and determined on the spot to keep them quite thoroughly entertained. In this, he had succeeded handsomely, making many new friends and receiving any number of warm hugs.

Just before her address, Elsa had directed every member of her household to get the important guests' effects relocated back to the palace as quickly as feasible. She was able to inform the crowd of this at the end (having received a high sign from Kai at the back of the hall), adding that when everyone returned to their rooms, they should find all things in order. That, too, went a long way toward mollifying hurt feelings. When she finished, she received a lengthy ovation, which left some high color on her cheek as she made her way from the lectern.

Anna rushed up to her in the small anteroom and crushed her in a long hug. "You are the _best_ queen _ever!_"

When she got her breath back, Elsa countered, "I feel like a fake."

"What?!"

The blonde pulled back a bit. "Have you any idea how scared I was? How important it is to maintain good relations with all those kingdoms and republics and nations after this … this awful _thing_ that happened? I could have blown the whole event!"

Anna gave her a lopsided grin and a quick peck on the cheek. "But you didn't. You handled 'em like a pro, and you make me so proud I could float." And she hugged her again.

Elsa sighed and relaxed into the hug. "I don't deserve such a wonderful sister."

"Stop it. That's just crazy talk. You're Queen, you're good at it, your people love you, I love you, you're my big sis, and nothing's gonna change that."

"You know that's almost as bad as saying, 'What could possibly happen?' don't you?"

"Pish-tosh. Are you superstitious?"

"It would be kind of silly of me to discount supernatural influences, don't you think?"

Her lips pursed in thought, Anna replied, "Okay, you got a point there."

"But," added the Queen, returning Anna's hug with change, "I guess there's no harm in enjoying the moment, is there?"

"None at all. You knocked 'em dead."

Allowing herself a small giggle, Elsa answered, "I kinda did, didn't I?"

The younger girl held her sister at arm's length and gave her a serious look. "Okay, that's out of the way. What's your next move?"

"Hmm." Her brow furrowed as she considered Anna's question, then her eyes went round. "Oh! Oh, my."

"What?"

"I have to get over to the cathedral."

"The cath-" Anna stopped herself. "Oh."

The Queen vented a sigh that sounded rather more melancholy than the one before. "That's where they all are." She pulled away and turned to the window, clasping her hands as she peered out across the rooftops at the large church building. "Bishop Torvik told me right before the address that his people had finished preparing the bodies. All nine of them are there now." She drew a slightly ragged breath. "This is another of those aspects of being Queen that I don't really relish."

"Huh?"

"People in my employ dying simply because they were people in my employ."

"Elsa, no! You can't look at it like-"

"Please don't misunderstand. I realize the risks inherent in such positions, and I have to assume they did, too. But I knew all of them to one degree or another. Papa had developed that kind of rapport with his staff, and even in my isolation I could tell it was a sound policy." Her gaze dropped to the sill and her words grew quiet. "You know I spent a good bit of the first three or four months of my reign meeting everyone and learning something about them. You helped me study a few times. But the Rasmussen boys were … they were just so young. Twenty and twenty-one."

"You mean Christian and Ivar."

Elsa nodded. "They'd requested … I mean, for the sake of their father because he was an old friend of Papa's, I … they had a shared task." She gave a small sniffle. "They were guarding my door when … when the assassins …"

Anna's arms were around her again. "Shush. It's okay. I knew 'em, too. I'm pretty sure Christian was … was sweet on me. A little."

Elsa could hear the strained edge on her sister's voice. "But it's _not_ okay, Anna. They're dead. How can that _ever_ be okay?"

There was a suppressed sob as the hug intensified. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know. That's one of the lies we're supposed to tell ourselves so we don't go completely bonkers." She laid her cheek against Elsa's back. "We just need to help the families get through this. We can hold it together that long, can't we?"

After a moment, Elsa nodded.

"Good." She stood straight and turned Elsa back around. "Let's go."

"You don't have to come-"

"Don't even start."

. . .

. . .

It was a short walk to the cathedral. However, about halfway there, Elsa stopped and just stood still, staring off into the distance.

Anna checked her stride. "El? Something wrong?"

"Nicolai."

"Nic- wait, that assassin?"

"Yes."

"What about him?"

"We need to go get him."

"… Said _**what?**_"

"I want him to see the damage, the pain and suffering their stupid 'contract' left in its wake."

"And you think this will do any good because …?"

"I don't know. It may not. But it feels right. So far we've spoken maybe a dozen words to each other, and I still haven't made up my mind on what to do with him."

Anna crossed her arms in a huff and muttered, "Give him to the Captain."

"That option is still open. But I want to see this first myself." And so saying, she marched off toward the dungeon entrance.

. . .

. . .

Honestly, the very last two people in the city that the dungeon guard had expected to see strolling up to his post that morning were the Princess and the Queen. He came to a brittle state of attention, and tried not to sweat, his eyes darting between them.

Elsa squinted at his face. "Erik? Erik Ulland?"

Obviously shocked that she knew his name, the now-very-nervous guard saluted and barked, "Yes, Your Majesty!"

"My word. Take it easy. I'm just here to see a prisoner."

"Of course, Your Majesty!" He turned and (given three tries) unlocked the door. "Right this way, Your Majesty!"

She laid a hand on his arm. "Erik?"

The poor man looked like he was about to faint, and stuttered uncontrollably.

Giving him a few light pats, she said, "Why don't you wait outside. I know my way around down there." And she ducked into the door.

Anna tripped by him, grinned, leaned up, and lightly pecked his cheek, saying, "Thank you, Erik!" before following her sister.

Erik leaned against the wall, eyes glazed, trying to get his breathing under control. Did they even _know_ what kind of torch he carried for Princess Anna? He hadn't told anyone! Seriously, they would have just laughed! And the Princess … had kissed him? He gingerly touched the place with one finger, and a disbelieving grin took over his face. Maybe no one would buy the story, but he'd be damned before he ever washed that spot again!

Elsa stood before the ice prison and contemplated their 'guest'. He had gained his feet as soon as she came into the room, but upon recognizing her he knelt and averted his eyes. "My Lady."

"So. 'Nicolai', is it?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"And your last name?"

"Petrov, My Lady."

"How long have you been with the Guild?"

"Just over five years, My Lady." He had yet to look at her.

"And how many Guild-related deaths have you been responsible for?"

"Twelve, My Lady."

"… Truly? No more?"

"No, My Lady."

Anna spluttered, "That's bullcrap!"

A calming motion from the Queen's hand quieted her. "And why is that, Nicolai Petrov?"

"… I am … not sure what you mean, My Lady."

"Nicolai, look at me."

Very reluctantly, he raised his eyes to her chin.

"Nicolai, I am not going to kill you today."

"Um … Very well, My Lady."

"Now that we have that settled, answer my question."

"Do you … wish to know why I have not been on more missions?"

"If that is the reason."

"Yes, well. The, ah, Guild does not work that often, My Lady. We may get one contract every four or five or six weeks, and it is typically targeting one person. The more senior assassins, the Masters, have their choice of contracts, and so the newer members are left with the less glamorous jobs. I have only been involved with nineteen contracts, and so have not had occasion to carry out more assassinations than that."

"I see. So. Twelve deaths via nineteen contracts."

"Yes, My Lady."

"Does that count the nine that you killed here?"

That seemed to confuse him. "Ah … no, My Lady. You asked how many for which I had been responsible. Four of my team members performed all the killings on this occasion." He considered her question again for a few seconds. "If you wish to know the aggregate number of deaths for all the missions where I was a member … I fear, My Lady, that I could not say with any accuracy. Probably in excess of a hundred."

"A hundred!" burst out Anna. "Elsa, you can't just –"

Elsa gave her a look that shut her up, then turned back to the prisoner. "And you are a 'junior' member of the Guild?"

"A Journeyman, My Lady."

"Very well, a Journeyman. How is it, then, that you were made a part of this team that was sent after me, if you are not a Master? I would think taking out a reigning head of state, even for as small a kingdom as ours, would pretty much top the 'glamour' list."

"I am not a Master, but I am one of the most skilled. It was the Khan's choice that I go." He paused a moment, then added, "There were three of the older members that tried to kill me to take my place."

Hiding her shock well, Elsa absorbed that, then asked, "May I assume they are no longer in any condition to make such an attempt again?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"Is that standard policy for your Guild? You can simply kill each other over something so trivial?"

He looked as if he were about to argue with her over what constituted 'trivial', but then thought better of it. "In many cases, yes, My Lady."

"You know, you don't have to append 'My Lady' to every other sentence."

"Of course, My … ah … um, of course." His eyes flickered up to hers for the briefest of instants. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

She rolled her eyes. "And tell me, Nicolai, have you ever gotten to know the people you killed before you killed them?"

"Um … no, My La- um … no. It is not …" He was frowning intensely, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. "Guild policy states that we are to remain anonymous unless circumstances demand otherwise. Typically, they do not."

"And do you ever stick around after an assassination, to see what happens as a result of the death?"

"Again, that is opposed to Guild policy. Once the job is confirmed, we leave. Anonymity is important, and the best way to be anonymous is to be somewhere else."

"I see." She stared at him for the better part of a minute.

He moved not a muscle.

Anna started to fidget. "El? What are we-"

"Sister, dear, would you be kind enough to stand on the other side of that door?"

"… Why?"

"I don't know precisely what this ward is going to do, and I'd like for you to be somewhere else if there's any backlash."

The startled Princess immediately scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind her and then peeking through the tiny grille.

Elsa turned back to Nicolai and concentrated.

The assassin felt the tendrils of magic moving around him, and it pulled erect every hair on his body. She'd said she wouldn't kill him (today) so what was she doing?

A halo of soft yellow came into being around her slim form. Her fingers began to weave in intricate patterns, swirling sparks of light following her motions and leaving tiny, bright trails in his vision. A sort of pressure grew within him, as if something were trying to push his guts out through his skin. The discomfort spread, slowly at first and then in a final race to his fingertips and toes, leaving him dazed. The icy cage that held him grew diffuse and dissolved into a maelstrom of razor-edged shards that raced by a hair's breadth from his face. He dared not move for fear of them cutting him to pieces; he hardly dared to breathe.

With a twinkling of soft, blue light, the storm vanished. From behind her, Elsa heard Anna breathe, "Whoa."

"Stand up."

He jumped to attention, stumbling somewhat.

She walked up to him. "Slap me."

Had he heard that correctly? "What?"

"Slap me."

"My La- uh, Your Majesty, I don't …"

"Are you disobeying a direct order?"

"Ah …" Tentatively, he drew his hand back. Elsa didn't flinch. "How … how hard do you want –"

"It doesn't matter. Just slap me."

He brought his arm around. Just before making contact, he was blown back by a spray of hard spheres of ice to his face and torso. He shook his head dazedly and then stared up at her from the floor, his expression vacillating from awe, to fear, to confusion as the spheres whirled around him, landed on his skin, and seemed to sink in and vanish.

Anna ran in, bouncing on her toes and clapping. "Elsa! That was freakin' awesome!"

She nodded to Anna, smirking slightly. "Good. That's how I wanted it to work. Mr. Petrov, I have placed a ward on you. Any attempt to offer violence to anyone will be revisited upon you a dozen-fold before you can even touch him." She walked slowly up to him, those wide, blue eyes sparking like the horizon in a polar dawn. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lady."

Nodding, Elsa said, "Good. Follow me."

. . .

. . .

By the time the trio made it to the cathedral, the effects of her earlier ley-line energy bump had worn off, and Elsa felt as if her entire body was sagging. She firmed up her back anyway and strode in at a stately pace, fighting off a yawn. (Anna didn't bother to fight hers.) To Nicolai, she said, "You will remain two paces behind me, you will not speak to anyone, and you will listen closely to everything that is said."

"Yes, My Lady."

She sighed and decided to just put up with the honorific.

All nine of the corpses were there, lying on a bier at the east end of the Nave. Anna gasped and Elsa tried to breathe only through her mouth. Six of them had been dead for more than three days and, despite the burial spices, the smell generated in the summer heat was getting to be more than some of the mourners could take. Elsa used a little of her magic to chill the corpses, and a cool breeze soon dissipated the stench. Everyone nearby drew a relieved breath.

She looked down at the first one in line: Arne Sorensen, cut down first when the assassins broke into the dungeon to free their compatriot. His fiancée, Alexa, currently sat in the second row, head bowed, holding a wadded piece of muslin soaked through with her tears.

With Anna right behind her, Elsa walked over to the girl and laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry for your loss."

Alexa just nodded, dabbing at her cheeks. Anna sat down beside her and pulled her into a hug, tears springing freely to her own eyes.

Turning partly in Nicolai's direction, Elsa said, "They postponed their wedding so there would be no conflict with Anna's. Arne and his father were almost done with their house." Then she moved back to the bier. Anna stayed with Alexa.

The next body was Bernt Horn's, and beside him, Filip Lund. They had died just minutes after Arne. Elsa walked over to where Bernt's parents sat off to one side, arms around each other, their stricken faces silent. She knelt, took their hands in hers, and spoke with them quietly for a minute before rising and returning to the bier to stand at Bernt's head. In a low voice, she said, "He was their youngest, the only one still living in Arendelle. They don't know how they will break the news to his older siblings, who are working in Oslo. He'd always been the family favorite." She indicated the adjacent corpse. "This was Filip Lund. He relocated here from Sweden only in the last year, and has no family present. But he always made friends easily and several have stopped by to pay their respects."

Fourth in line was Josef Carlson. Elsa placed a palm on his forehead and closed her eyes. "Josef and Carolina have twin boys. Toddlers. They'll be two in another month. Her elderly mother lives with them." She looked around, finally spotting Carolina where she knelt in a pew, praying. Elsa moved over and knelt beside her, indicating that Nicolai should stand in the aisle at that point. Several minutes passed in silence while the Queen held the woman's hand. Then they spoke in low tones and Elsa came back to where Nicolai stood. "In just a few years, Thom and Olaf will not remember their father. A duty stipend from the royal treasury will see to it that they don't starve, but it doesn't take the place of a dad."

Knut Omdahl occupied the fifth spot. "Mr. Omdahl was a twenty-year veteran. He's a year younger than my father. His three sons …" and here she pointed out a tall man with dark hair talking with a much shorter woman, "have been taking it in turn to stay with the body. I believe that one is his oldest. His wife died of a fever two months after my coronation. And now you've taken their father, too."

Ivar Rasmussen and his older brother Christian held the sixth and seventh positions. Elsa stood in front of them for some minutes, first just staring at them, then silently mouthing prayers for them, before heaving a long sigh and saying, "These boys were outside my door the first night you attacked me. They were … born to their parents later in life than most. To their father, anyway. Mr. Rasmussen is nearing seventy; he was in his late forties when he married. When he heard the news of both his sons' deaths, he suffered a stroke and has been confined to his bed ever since." She paused, and sniffled quietly. Turning an accusing glare on Nicolai, she said, "His wife hasn't left his side. She has no real reason to do so, being childless now."

They moved down the line. The penultimate victim was Bjorn Lund (no relation to Filip). "Mr. Lund and his sister, Anja, lost their parents in a fire some five years ago. He made it into the Guard on a recommendation, and had done really well. Everyone liked him. He was Anja's sole support. She's of a delicate constitution and can't really work outside their home."

Last in the row, and the youngest victim, was the rookie guard whose sightless stare had greeted Carlos from the alcove. Not bothering to look at Nicolai, Elsa stated, "This was Harald Eberhard. He was nineteen, and had been on the job for less than a month. The Guard Captain placed him in that interior hallway because it was safe. Theoretically." Several breaths passed before she continued, "Harald's father is in the fishing fleet. They've been out for four days and are due back tomorrow. They wanted to get the haul done before Anna's wedding and be here for the festivities. He doesn't yet know that his oldest child and only son is dead." She turned to stare directly into the assassin's eyes, noting with grim satisfaction how stricken he seemed to be. "His mother spent the last two days here beside him. She would take no food, and finally fainted. Her two daughters took her home and are trying to nurse her back to health in time to attend the funeral. We will, of course, postpone it until the elder Mr. Eberhard has returned. It will be quite a homecoming for him, don't you think?" Turning toward the Dome, she looked past it at the High Altar where the Bishop's lectern stood. "I doubt that any of these men's families will be taking part in Anna's wedding celebration. I certainly wouldn't have the heart for it, were I in their shoes."

Slowly, she walked over to one of the padded chairs around the edge of the Dome, and sank down into it, closing her eyes and resting her head against the tall back. For a few minutes, she sat quietly, and Nicolai stood near her, studiously contemplating his shoes. Then she broke the silence. "So much death."

He raised his head and met her gaze. She was unsurprised at how haunted he looked.

The Queen heaved a long, tired sigh, plucking absently at her gown. "So much useless, despicable, horrible death … and so much useless, despicable, horrible pain and despair and loss in its wake."

He had been instructed not to speak, so he didn't.

"Do you know what this does to a city? To a nation? Loss of life is usually accompanied by sadness, but when they are cut down in their prime …" She pushed herself up and began to walk slowly to the west door. "And so many at once. It was as if war had come to Arendelle."

She saw that Anna was still consoling Alexa and decided to leave her alone. She was already doing one of the things she did best. They went back out into the street.

Elsa made her way over to a small garden to the north side of the cathedral and found a bench in a shady spot, motioning for Nicolai to sit beside her. After staring off at nothing for a few minutes, she said, "Going through that just now … Do you know what it did for me?"

He remained mute, only shaking his head.

"You may speak."

"I am unsure of what to say."

"And I'm not all that sure of what to ask." She rearranged her skirts, sitting primly on the backless seat. "Why don't you start by giving me your impressions of those left behind."

His mouth worked open and shut a few times before he could say, "I didn't … think that other people could … could feel what I'd felt."

"What do you mean?"

His stare bored a hole in the ground for a bit. "My family was killed in a raid."

"… Oh."

"I …" He grasped for words. "They were … I was the youngest. Eight. Maybe nine. The raiders came. My … father hid me in a well. There was a ledge …" He made a few vague motions with one hand. "I was in there for hours. The screams went on for hours. I can still remember my sister's voice, and the rough cursing of the raiders when they …"

"So then you do understand."

"What I understand is revenge. My grandmother came to the farm that night and pulled me out of the well. I still don't know how she knew where I was. She took me with her and raised me after that."

"And the revenge?"

His face became granite, his eyes glowing coals. "I trained. I trained with anything I could pick up, with the cow's halter, with the fireplace poker, with chunks of firewood. I fashioned a sword from a length of rowan wood. I learned to throw Grandmother's knife. When I reached a plateau, I searched out someone to train me. The summer I turned seventeen, I went to track down the raiders. Gods-damned barbarians."

"May I assume your hunt was successful?"

"Not in the slightest. The tribe that killed my family had, themselves, nearly been wiped out by a larger force not five days before I found their home territory. If the 'decorations' were any indication, the conquerors were less squeamish and more bloodthirsty than the tribe that attacked us."

"There were some of them left?"

"Not for long," he answered, his brow gathering like a thunderhead.

Elsa gave him a couple of slow nods. "That explains much."

Startled, he looked at her. "What does?"

"Your history. Allow me to guess: the Guild became interested in you after your performance there. They explained what they do, and offered you the chance at some payback. And you jumped at it."

He hung his head.

"So you never before thought about the relatives of the people you killed?"

Giving his head a shake, he answered, quietly, "Not as such. I knew they were there. But the targets are almost uniformly political, and politicians need to be exterminated on principle." He straightened up and drew a cleansing breath. "With one shining exception. You, My Lady, have been a revelation. In many ways."

"How so?"

"Morana does not have a reputation for mercy. And yet you are profoundly, recklessly merciful."

"I? Merciful? My wards killed _dozens_ of men in that final assault!"

"Well, yes. We were trying to kill you. That is reasonable. But you didn't torture any of them. Morana would have slowly stripped the flesh from their bones, relishing their pain."

"Morana?"

"The source of your power. The goddess of death."

Elsa recalled what Carlos had said about this man's belief system, and grinned. "I am no goddess. I promise you that."

"So you say. But that is the only valid explanation for what you can do. You may not realize it, but Morana's spirit invests you." He slipped off the bench and made an abbreviated genuflection. "And it has been my honor, before I die, to actually meet you. I can go into the Outer Darkness now, if that is your wish."

She stared at him intently for a moment, then rose and said, "We should get back to the palace. There is much to do."

"Ah … 'We', My Lady?"

"Follow me."

They did not stop until they stood outside her apartments. A single guard kept vigil and saluted when she walked up, giving Nicolai a brief, pointed stare. "Your Majesty. Shall I summon another guard?"

"No, Karl, don't bother. In fact, if you would be so kind as to take the rest of the afternoon off, that would be well."

He blinked in confusion. "I'm … sorry?"

She stuck a thumb toward Nicolai. "He'll be my guard for the rest of the day."

"… _**HIM?!"**_

"_**ME?!"**_

She patted Karl's cheek. "Please don't fret. I have it under control." She turned him around and headed him toward the stairs. "Off you go."

"But-but-but Your Majesty, I –"

"Don't worry about the Captain. I'll handle him. But you need to not be on this hall when I cast the next ward."

That got him moving. "I'll report to the Captain, then."

"Good."

He hurried away, looking daggers back at Nicolai.

"My Lady … I very much fear that I am totally confused."

"Just stand there and don't move. I'm still getting the hang of this." And she started weaving her hands again.

_Oh, gods! More magic!_ He closed his eyes and tried not to whimper. But this time it didn't hurt. It wasn't even that uncomfortable. He cracked an eye open and watched her do … something … to the windows. Then she nodded in satisfaction and turned back to him.

"You will need to stay on this hall until I release the ward."

"… Yes, My Lady."

"This is not an idle desire of mine. Your life will be forfeit if you pass through any of those portals, including the windows."

"Very well, My Lady. But I fear I will be an ineffective guard, since I can't actually hit anyone."

Her grin widened. "Indeed. That is why I removed that ward. You can hit whoever you need to now, apart from me." She concentrated briefly and a double-edged sword came to being in her hand. She smoothed her other hand down its length, changing its color from white to a deep blue. Then she tossed it to him.

He was surprised to feel that the hilt was merely cool. "Is this … ice?"

"After a fashion. It is solidified water. It is also much harder and much tougher than any steel you ever held. If you're as good with a blade as you've boasted, you should be able to handle whatever crops up, I'd think. Oh, and have a care with that edge. It will be quite sharp."

"…This isn't the first time you've made a sword."

"And it likely won't be the last." She opened her door. "Remember to stay on the hall. I don't want to have to clean your remains off the walls. I'm going to take a nap now." The door closed with a sharp rap.

. . .

. . .


	18. Misdirection

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 17: Misdirection**

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 27 July 1841, 7:10pm_

_I have never __**seen**__ a place with so damn many taverns before!_ Juan stalked along the street, stopping at every fourth or fifth building to step inside and cast about for his quarry. _And normally I'd be happy about that. But I really need to find that guy. _Ducking into the shadow of an open doorway, he poked his head into the small establishment and took a quick look around: only two patrons, neither one the man he sought. Sighing, he took to the street again._ At least this far north I've got plenty of daylight to work with, thanks be to Shiva. It's still better than two hours to sunset._ Across a narrow side street and down two doors sat the next tavern in line. He looked up at the sign over the door. It showed a fat, smiling man dressed in white, leaning over a large, black cooking pot. With dogged determination, he pushed the door open and strode inside.

Although one of the larger such places he'd seen, it was a good bit more crowded than the ones he'd visited previously. Most of this bunch, though, seemed to be sharing a common purpose, as quite a few were chuckling or laughing in waves. One of them was standing and … telling a story? Hmm. This might be the place, then. He worked his way into the press of broad backs, beards, and body odor.

The man standing on the hearth was tall (practically every man in Arendelle was taller than Juan, so that came as no surprise) and his face bore the rugged telltales of a life lived largely out in the elements. He took a long swallow from his stein, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, "So when Friedrich tried to get the sword belt off, the buckle wouldn't budge. He got frantic as Hell, even tried to cut the damn thing off, but Bernt had boiled it in wax for a while, and it was too tough to cut. Olga was waiting in the next room, and you all know she's not a patient girl, but she wasn't about to get frisky with him while he was wearing a sword. Friedrich pulled on the thing so hard, he jerked a knot in his back, and ended up laid out, stiff as a plank, for two days!"

The room roared at Friedrich's expense. That worthy took it in stride, kissed the girl on his lap, and offered another toast. "Here's to Bernt! We'll never really be rid of him because Heaven won't have him, and Hell's afraid he'll take over!"

_Ah-ha! This is the right place! Now, if only he's here._ Juan craned his neck around, trying to spot the familiar face, but in the first place most of them weren't turned his way, and in the second, all these big, rowdy Northmen looked alike. Shaking his head in frustration, he climbed up on a chair and bellowed, "Kristoff!"

Three heads whipped around to stare at him, and the one sitting at a table by the hearth turned out to be his target. He made a 'get over here' motion with his arm, jumped down, and walked quickly outside.

A mere quarter-minute had passed before the ice-harvester shouldered the door out of his way. He stomped up to Juan, put his hands on his hips and demanded, "What?"

"You need to get a message to the Princess."

That made him frown. "What kind of message?"

"Carlos is leaving. He's packing right now."

The mountain-man's mouth fell open. "Leaving?!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Afraid so."

"But … but … did he hit his head or something?"

"No, but I might just do that little thing for him. The damned fool is convinced he's done something _unforgivable_ to the Queen, and he's leaving before things get," and here he made little quote marks in the air, "too complicated."

Kristoff stared at him dumbly for a moment. "Unforgivable?"

"His words."

"But they're crazy about each other!"

"This I know."

"He can't leave! Elsa will blow sky high! Control or no control, we'll be up to our asses in icicles!"

"You think I didn't try that? I've talked myself hoarse trying to get across to him that tucking his tail and running away is a Very Bad Idea."

"I need to tell Anna."

"That thought," said Juan with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, "had occurred to me."

Kristoff grabbed his hand and pumped it rapidly a few times. "Thanks, Juan! We'll figure out … well, _**she'll**_ figure out some way to stop him." And off he dashed at a sprint.

. . .

. . .

Anna looked up from her book when Kristoff crashed into the library. "Whoa. You're back early." Her dimples showed. "You miss me that bad?"

"Anna, Carlos is leaving."

She blinked at him twice and worked a finger into one ear. "That's funny. I thought you just said …"

"I did. Carlos is leaving. He's packing up right now."

"What the Hell? Does he think he can just walk away? And how'd you find out about –"

"Juan told me. He said Carlos thought he'd done something 'unforgivable' to Elsa. His word."

"Oh." She tossed the book onto the divan (and it slid off to thump on the floor) and got to her feet. "Looks like I need to have a talk with a certain hard-headed Spaniard."

"Okay, let's go! He's still in his rooms according to Celia, and …"

Anna poked him in the chest. "You stay here. I'll talk to him alone."

"… But …"

"Nope. You'd just muddy the waters. What you need to do is scoot off down to the harbor and make sure nobody sets sail."

That made Kristoff think. "Hey. You know, he can't really leave 'til in the morning anyway. Tide's against him."

"Right. So we've got all night to get his head screwed back on straight."

He gave her that crooked grin she loved so much. "Let's hope his head is all that needs screwing."

"Maybe we can rope Elsa in on that little job. God knows she needs to unwind a bit, and that would be just the thing."

. . .

. . .

_What's taking that page so blasted long?_ Carlos wondered this as he paced his room. _I wanted my trunk on that ship an hour ago!_ He had never been very good at doing 'nothing', and today was no exception. Bits and pieces of the past several hours floated through his mind.

After his meeting with the royals this morning, he had gone back to the dungeon to go over Nicolai's letter with him in fine detail. Satisfied with both the prisoner's veracity and the information and tone of the missive, Carlos had wasted no time in getting it on a fast boat to St. Petersburg, where it would be delivered to a courier. Nicolai's note should be in the hands of his Guild Masters inside of three weeks, well ahead of their deadline.

Once that task was complete, the _hidalgo_ found himself at loose ends for the first time since his arrival in Scandinavia – a week ago? Had it really been only a week? He counted the days, finally shaking his head. Yes, not even quite yet six full days. It felt more like six weeks, comparing unfavorably to some of the military campaigns he'd been in. With a wry grimace, he reflected that he'd killed more men in this small, peaceful city than he had on many a battlefield. Of course, as opposed to the hapless soldiers whose souls he'd freed, the ones who died in Arendelle had all richly deserved it, but … had he really become that inured to death? Had the thousands of corpses in his wake truly scoured his soul that thoroughly? All things considered, it hardly bore thinking about.

So he chose not to think about it. Briefly contemplating a nap, he soon realized that he was both too keyed up and not tired enough (he'd visited the ley line after breakfast). He didn't need to do any sight-seeing. He'd already become quite familiar with the city. Elsa was busy preparing her speech, and he didn't want to get in her way, which for him meant leaving the palace. He could feel her mind if they were within a couple hundred paces of each other, which meant she could do the same to him; that by itself might interfere with her concentration. It certainly interfered with his.

At first he thought about visiting that high-end tavern he'd heard of, but then another idea occurred to him and he stopped the first man he saw smoking a pipe. That conversation led him to a tobacconist where he procured a brace of high-quality cigars (high-quality according to the vendor; Carlos had never heard of the brand, though they were certainly pricey enough). He didn't often indulge in a smoke, but he felt somewhat justified, given the recent string of successes over the forces arrayed against Arendelle.

That, and four glasses of excellent ale, occupied three quarters of an hour. He got himself some lunch at the same tavern, and by the end of the meal it was an hour past noon. And although he was chock full of nervous energy, he still didn't have any idea of what to do with himself. The furious activity of the last few days had quickly and easily established itself as 'the norm' and shifting out of that mindset was taking some doing (and quite frankly he wasn't even sure if he should, given what he knew of Cardinal Papella's mindset … there could easily be another attack of some kind).

Besides that, he realized the Queen would be giving her address in half an hour or so, and (again) felt he should be elsewhere while that ticklish exercise was going on. _Hidalgo_ or not, he'd never been one for public speaking, and the thought of what she was about to do managed to give him a case of jitters worse than any battle he'd ever faced. She most assuredly didn't need any psychic feedback from _that_ while trying to pacify a bunch of disgruntled peers.

Not really having any plan, as such, he ambled down toward the docks. There he found a convenient rail and rested against it, staring out into the fjord. This natural feature had captivated his attention when he first arrived. He'd found a rough peace in the rugged beauty and stark contrasts of the stony cliffs and heavily-forested mountains seemingly falling into the narrow finger of ocean at their feet. Trying to imagine the whole thing frozen solid, as he'd been told many times had happened, was a strain.

A seawall ran along just in front of and about a man-height below the railing, and it was plenty wide enough to see a decent bit of traffic on its own. Someone had installed a small stone bench just a few steps down from where Carlos stood, and currently occupying it were a pair of elderly men. From their conversation, he guessed they'd been sailors, because they certainly did have a lot to say about the fuss going on at the docks.

Arendelle being an established port city, there was always activity at the docks. Today was no different. He watched while gangs of laborers transferred a series of barrels and chests from the hold of one ship and into a small warehouse. They were constantly dodging another line of men who were emptying a different warehouse into a ship two berths down. A great deal of cursing served as the accompaniment to this complex dance, and it pulled a grin out of Carlos. Ports were the same all over.

"Hey! That's him!"

He could tell the comment was directed his way, and glanced surreptitiously to his right. Two of the Watch stood a few paces away, one of them pointing at him and trying to get his companion's attention. After a brief, low discussion, they walked over. The one who had spoken said, "You're him, right? The Spanish guy?"

Carlos considered his response carefully and then said, in the most noncommittal tone he could dredge up, "Being that there are quite a few foreign guests in town for the wedding celebration, I doubt I'm the only 'Spanish guy' around."

"You're Señor de la Maria, though, right? You saved Queen Elsa from those assassins, didn't you?" He was close to invading Carlos's personal space. "I'm Stør Blodsen." And he grabbed the Spaniard's hand and shook it heartily. "I'm so glad I got the chance to thank you personally! You saved our kingdom!"

Sighing inwardly, he maintained a placid exterior. "In actual point of fact, my good fellow, she was the one who saved me."

"… Huh?"

"One of them had gotten the upper hand against me, and I would have died if she hadn't frozen him."

The heretofore-silent member of the pair smirked and offered, "Yeah that sounds about like her."

"But there were four of them!" the first man insisted. "I heard you killed three."

Carlos had had no real expectation of his exploits remaining a secret, but still. "How did you come to find out about all this?"

"I was on the bridge when you … appeared." He frowned. "How'd you do that, anyway? One second the wall was empty and then you jumped past me outta nowhere." He turned to his companion. "It's like I said, Leif, he can move too bloody fast for words!" Turning back to Carlos, he said, "You did, didn't you? Move super-fast, that is. You're special, aren't you? Like the Queen?"

Huffing in frustration, Carlos allowed, "I see no reason to deny it. But the relationship is one of quality, not quantity. She is vastly more powerful than I, and her abilities far more useful. I've simply had more practice."

"Says the man who killed three assassins. I heard Captain Fjelstad talking about it. Those guys are total badasses."

"They were skilled, yes."

"But you're a Hell of a lot better."

This was getting a bit uncomfortable. Concentrating for a moment, he held out his hands. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid I have other business to attend to."

They shook his hands effusively. "No problem, Señor! We're just glad to … glad of … um …" They both stood still for the space of several heartbeats, hunched over and staring dazedly at the ground. Then they stood straight, looked around at the empty pier, and looked at each other. "What'd you say, Leif?"

"Me? You were the one prattling on about the Princess."

"… Yeah. Yeah, I was. Right." He shook his head. "Sun must be gettin' to me."

Leif looked up at the bright daystar. "Speakin' of, we need to get back on patrol or we'll be late for check-in."

"Aw, Hell, not again! That would be … what, the third time?"

"Fourth. And it's your fault for tryin' to use moldy wool to think with."

"Hey!"

. . .

. . .

_4:10pm_

This tavern was a great deal seedier than the Cook &amp; Kettle, but the dark, chewy ale made it worth his time. Carlos took another mouthful and rolled it around on his tongue: bready and full, with smoky overtones from the deep-roasted barley malt, and a finish that hinted at coffee and chocolate. This was not a beverage that one drank quickly, and he savored each swallow.

If only he could have savored his peace and quiet as well. The conversation going on behind him would have been too low for him to follow, but his connection with the astral plane had alerted him to the topic and allowed him to tune it in with reasonable accuracy.

_A: I'm tellin' ya, it's no big deal._

_B: Says you._

_A: Just walk by him and slip the knife 'tween his ribs._

_B: It's your idea, Judd, why don't you do it?_

_A: Hello, broke finger? Remember that, asshole?_

_C: Besides, that was __your__ cousin he killed. You're the one wants 'im dead._

_A: And you won't get a better chance. That's his fifth beer._

_C: Right, he'll be too buzzed to know what's goin' on._

Carlos heaved a resigned sigh and levered himself out of his chair, turned toward the three men at the table, and strolled over. "Good afternoon."

They stared at him like trapped rats (a not-inaccurate comparison).

"You seem to be missing a few pieces of vital information. Allow me to fill in the blanks, as it were." He held up a finger. "First, it wouldn't matter how many beers I drank, because I can't get drunk. I drink it because I like the taste. Alcohol has no effect on my system." Another finger popped up. "Second, no matter how cunning you think you are, your plans are as plain to me as a public notice being proclaimed by the King's Herald." He extended his thumb. "Third, assuming that, for some odd reason such as, oh, maybe being bored, I allowed you to attempt to kill me, you would find the results not to your liking." Suddenly a pair of wickedly long daggers had captured the trio's complete attention. "And finally, you three are going to place all your weapons on the table, then calmly get up and leave."

The three men hurried to comply and were soon out of sight.

Carlos was returning his blades to their hidden sheaths when another stein of dark ale plunked down in front of him. He looked up at the barkeep and grinned. "Is that for me?"

"On the house. Those jerks are bad for business."

"I thank you kindly." He nodded at the small collection of blades and pistols. "Those are yours, I guess."

"You don't want them? That horn-handle sheath knife …"

"I have no need of them. Sell them if you like."

"Don't mind if I do."

Carlos finished his beer and then ambled back outside, thinking, _Well, that was a diverting few minutes. Now what else can I find to do?_

. . .

. . .

_5:20pm_

_They should place a guard outpost in this spot. You can see most of the city from right here._ He was ensconced on a ledge along the inside of the city wall, several hundred paces east of the palace grounds, and up the side of the fjord a good ways. It wasn't too far from the nook he'd occupied last Saturday as he castigated himself for committing that crime against Elsa's mind. _Maybe I'll mention this location to the Captain before I leave._

Leaving was becoming less of an _option_ and more of a _necessity_ to his way of thinking. He knew that his attraction to Elsa of Arendelle was as real as real gets. She was easily the most admirable woman he'd ever met … and he'd met some. She had a fierce love for her people and her nation that wasn't far short of legendary. That she was Fey-touched only made a relationship more reasonable. That she possessed a physical beauty to tax the skills of the best portrait painters on Earth was no drawback, either. She appeared before him every time he closed his eyes.

But if he stayed … if he pursued the relationship … if he got close to her … she would find out. She would learn that he had violated that most sacred of barriers and had entered her mind without her consent. To him, it was much worse than rape. Never mind that he hadn't intended to do it. It had happened. He just couldn't get around it.

She hadn't brought it up in any of their conversations, but then why would she? It was doubtless a very embarrassing episode, and one she could in no way have understood at the time. Indeed, the longer he sat there and thought it over, the more likely it seemed to him that she would eventually figure out what had happened on her own. She was highly intelligent (brilliant in his estimation) and was learning more about the astral plane and magic and arcane mental abilities, practically by the hour. It was only a matter of time before she posed a question to him that would brush on the subject, and he wouldn't be able to lie to her … and she would hate him.

He could not bear that. Many things he could withstand, but her hatred wasn't anywhere in the list.

He would leave, and go far away, and do his best to forget her. She would wonder why he had left, when so many things were still unfinished, when she could definitely have used his help, when there was so much more he could teach her. She would wonder and worry, and perhaps be angry with him. But she wouldn't hate him. The thought of looking into those perfect eyes and seeing the loathing that was sure to come on the heels of his revelation …

No.

He couldn't do it. It would kill him. And once that final piece clicked into place, once he really comprehended what was at stake here, his decision was simple. (Keep in mind, Gentle Reader, that 'simple' does not mean the same thing as 'easy'.)

With his new resolve, he lost no time in putting into motion those tasks that would be needed to effect his departure. A quick trip to the Harbormaster booked him a passage, and then it was back to the palace to collect his things …

And that brought him back around to his present situation, brooding over the rapidly-fleeing minutes while staring out his window at the southeastern quarter of the city and tracing out the crisp shadows cast by the very-late-afternoon sun. He took a moment then to reflect on his most recent conversation (read: screeching diatribe) with Juan. The man had been useless, misunderstanding his motives completely and naming him several varieties of stupid before storming off, ostensibly to down a barrel of ale. Carlos would have to find him before their ship sailed. It wouldn't be the first time Juan had boarded a ship while flopped over the Spaniard's shoulder blind drunk.

When a sharp tattoo of knocks echoed from his door, he breathed a sigh that was equal parts relief and frustration. "Come in!"

His surprise-maturing-in-seconds-to-full-blown-worry was profound when Anna slipped into the room, a frown dominating her pixie-like features. "Carlos, we have a problem."

_Yes, I've got a problem, and you aren't helping!_ But he didn't say that. Instead, he intoned, "How can I be of service, Your Highness?"

An exasperated huff escaped the girl. "Look. It's just Anna, okay? I know you're all 'My Queen' this and 'Your Majesty' that around Elsa, but I don't need any of that or want it." She marched up to him and poked a slender finger at his chest. "I call you 'Carlos', so you call me 'Anna', got it? Ditch the manners!"

Despite his irritation, he couldn't quite suppress a smirk at her familiar attitude. "Very well, Anna. What's the problem, and how may I aid you?"

"It's Elsa! She's gonna work herself into an early grave, Fey or no Fey!"

"What do you mean?" His sudden concern was very, very genuine.

"She's wound up tight as a violin string, and in spite of just about everything being ready for the ceremony and the party and everything, she's convinced she can't do anything about it until after the wedding, which is just crazy talk because that won't be 'til Sunday, and the going-away festival starts that night and doesn't finish until Monday night, and she's gonna drop dead from exhaustion if she doesn't just TAKE some freakin' time OFF!"

He was amazed at her breath control. She looked entirely too petite for her lungs to hold enough air to get all that out in one blast without at least gasping. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, then … I see that as a problem. The last few days have been very hard on her, and …"

"Exactly!" She spread her arms wide for emphasis. "That's EXACTLY what I said, but does she pay attention? No! Of course not! Why EVER would she have any concern for her HEALTH? She's only the Oh My God **QUEEN**! Not important at all!"

Carlos took a step back to put himself out of the flailing-arm damage radius. "So what is it you're trying to do?"

"We gotta get her away from the palace and I think the best place to do that would be up at her castle, 'cause, see, if she's got a day or three to just relax and not WORRY herself to DEATH over stuff she can't CONTROL or stuff that doesn't MATTER, or stuff that sure as Hell doesn't need to be done AGAIN 'cause she thinks it isn't PERFECT yet and God forbid anything at the wedding not be PERFECT, and she has some time to just rest and have some freakin' FUN for a change, then maybe, just MAYBE she won't DIE on me!" She finished in a huff and crossed her arms, glaring at Carlos belligerently.

"Ah … yes, well." He was at a loss. "So the goal is … to get the Queen to relax?"

"Duh. Have you even been listening? The best place to do that is up in her castle. I don't know how many times she's told me how free she felt when she was up there by herself. And I need your help to get her there, 'cause she actually LISTENS to you, 'cause you're Fey-smacked, just like her, and I'm just the dumb, ol' sister. I mean it's not as if I CARED about her or anything!"

He moved back another half-pace or so. This girl needed a lot of room to make a point. "I think I see. You want me to convince her to … take some time away from her duties?"

"That would be a good start, yeah." Her eyes got round and dewy as she gave him the most hopeful of pleading looks. "You can do that, can't you? For Elsa?"

Truthfully, there was only one acceptable answer to such a question, and he gave it. "I would be honored to aid you in this endeavor."

The doe-eyes vanished, to be replaced by a monumental "SQUEEEEE!" as she clapped her hands and bounced up and down, an action that demonstrated fully some of the things that Kristoff must see in the ebullient girl. "Thanks, Carlos, you're the best!"

"I'm good, but I'm not sure about best."

"False modesty. I know better. We'll get her up there for sure." Anna finally seemed to take in the room itself, and noticed the open and empty wardrobe, the empty shelves beside it, and finally his packed trunk with a bulging satchel atop it. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at it. "Carlos …"

He popped a light sweat, but kept his voice steady. "Yes?"

"You poor thing!"

"… Poor? Wait, what?"

"You've been so busy, you haven't even had time to unpack! Why, that's just scandalous!"

His mind whirled furiously for a couple of seconds as he processed her comments. "… Yes. Yes, it is rather sad, isn't it? We've all been so busy. Some things just fall by the wayside."

She patted his arm. "Well, you've got a little time to unpack now, so I'll send a maid up to help you. Elsa's trying to take a nap, if the nightmares let her, but I want to spring –"

"Nightmares?"

"What? Oh, yeah. She was having bad dreams this morning during our nap, about all the bad guys that died when they tried to break in and get her. Wouldn't let her sleep. Anyway, I want to trot out this idea on her at supper, so you need to be super-convincing, okay?"

"… Of course." Nightmares? Was that in any way his fault? "At … at supper." That made him frown; he had already eaten. "You haven't … um, I mean, when do you usually have the evening meal? It's well past seven o'clock now."

"Pretty much as soon as she wakes up. It'll probably be nine, anyway, at least. She was pretty bushed." She brushed off his question. "Don't worry. I'll send someone up for you. Just be sure to be right here, okay?"

He nodded, but he was not at ALL sure that he could maintain his composure while sitting across the table from Elsa, now that he had decided to escape to parts unknown. But it didn't look as if he had much of a choice. Anna had made up his mind for him. "I will do my best, Your Hi– um, Anna."

"Great! I'll see you there." She leaned up and pecked his cheek. "Thanks SOOOO much, Carlos!" And she was gone in a swirl of golden motes dancing in the draft from the closing door.

_Okay, what just happened?_

Disgustedly, he plopped down onto his bed and rested his face in his hands with a long groan. Never mind Elsa! That sister of hers was a force of nature.

. . .

. . .

_9:40pm_

Notwithstanding the frightening, shadowy images that pursued her through her dreams, it was her bladder that finally woke Elsa. But once she was up and had taken care of the immediate need, she realized that she still felt as if she hadn't rested at all, and that she was really hungry. Frowning in thought, she tried to remember her last meal. Was it lunch? A quick glance at the clock on her mantle confirmed that the meal in question had ended nearly ten hours ago. Her stomach gurgled to emphasize the point.

Well. No matter. It wasn't as if there weren't always something available for scrounging in the kitchens.

She remembered Nicolai and frowned again. She really hadn't meant to be 'out of it' this long, leaving him stuck where he was. He was probably hungry, too. She caught a faint noise from the other side of the door, like a snatch of conversation, and strode over to it. She was going to just yank it open, but then thought that might not be wise. She pressed an ear against the thick wood.

"That's the big casino, cards, and three aces. Eight for me, three for you."

"Jerk."

_What the heck?_ She did open the door then, and peeked into the hall.

Carlos and Nicolai were seated on the floor, facing each other, a few piles of playing cards on the marble between them; the ice sword was propped against the wall under the near window. There was also an empty tray off to the side bearing the signs of having held food. Her stomach practically barked at the subtle, lingering aromas.

The two men looked at the door and got to their feet. "My Queen." "My Lady."

The very picture of puzzlement, she came into the hall, looked up and down it, and then fixed them with a stare. "What in the world are you doing?"

Carlos said, "I came up to wait on you and guide you to supper. Nic, here, hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday, and a faint guard makes a poor guard, so I got him a plate of cod and some buns, and a small beer."

Nicolai gave him an abbreviated bow. "He was most gracious, My Lady."

"He explained what you'd done, with the murdered men and the warding and all."

"And Señor de la Maria suggested we pass the time at casino."

"And he's a much better player than he let on."

The Russian smirked. "We had a lot of idle time at the Guild."

"And I've had a century to get good at the game. You're just lucky."

"Supper?" asked Elsa, finally processing what he'd said. "You mean to tell me supper hasn't been served yet? It's nearly ten!"

"I am sorry, my Queen, but Princess Anna insisted that we all eat together."

"… Did she, now?"

"She did."

Elsa's stomach made its gaping, ravenous presence known once more, bringing an irritated sigh from the Queen. "Whatever. Let's go."

. . .

. . .


	19. Revelation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 18: Revelation**

. . .

. . .

_Wednesday 28 July 1841, 5:20am_

Elsa got herself settled in the sleigh and glared down at her sister. "I still don't know how you talked me into this."

"Because you realized I was right and finally admitted it," Anna answered with a smirk.

Not having a ready comeback to that, Elsa decided to just pout, rearranging her sleeveless ice dress several times to try to quell her nervous energy. That tactic, however, left her alone with her thoughts, and they kept coming back around to the same conclusion: Anna WAS right. Had it only been the previous Friday when Gerda had expressed her opinion that a break would be a good idea? So much had happened in the intervening days, it seemed to Elsa as if weeks had passed. And she was every bit as tired and stretched now as she'd been then, and more. The emotional strains alone threatened to unzip her mind. Maybe she truly was ready for a day off.

But why did it have to be all the way up the North Mountain? She sneaked a glance at her sister, but Anna just grinned, a sparkle in her eye as she stowed their lunch hamper. "Don't worry about it, El, you'll love it."

"And I suppose I'll love the piles of unfinished work waiting on me when we get back?"

"To use a saying of Kristoff's, that ol' dog won't hunt. There will always be paperwork, and ceremonies, and visiting dignitaries, and all the other crap that comes with being Queen. You'll handle it. But let me just point out, Miss Queen, that you'll handle it a lot BETTER from the position of enough rest."

Elsa crossed her arms. "Yes. You said that several times already."

"Only because it's true. True and important."

"I still say this schedule is pushing it. The ball is supposed to start at eight. Four hours up there, and four hours back only leaves us …"

"Plenty of time for relaxation." Anna climbed up and flopped down next to her sister. "Besides, it's a pretty trip."

Not having any other ammunition for the argument, Elsa just sighed and waited for Kristoff to bring Sven around.

A couple of minutes later they heard the sound of approaching voices. Kristoff was explaining 'the carrot connection' and why Sven loved them so much, even though they weren't anywhere on the diet of his feral brethren. Elsa craned her head around, her eyes growing large at the sight of Carlos walking with the mountain man. She whipped back to face the front, then peeked over at Anna. "Is Ca- … is Señor de la Maria coming, too?"

"Well, yeah."

"You didn't tell me that!" she hissed.

"Like heck! We talked it over at supper. He needs to teach you that lie-detector thing he does."

"Well … okay, yes, but I didn't know he meant today!"

The younger girl cocked her head and grinned. "You want him to come along or not?"

"Uh … That's … I don't … Shouldn't we … Um …"

Anna patted her knee. "That's what I thought. You'll do fine."

Elsa swallowed and thought, _Oh, help! _She quickly added some lacy sleeves to her ice dress, and adjusted its color from white to light blue.

The two men came abreast of the sleigh and Kristoff leaned up to give Anna a quick kiss. "You're looking 'specially gorgeous today. Did they serve hot chocolate at breakfast or something?"

"Eh. Or something," she replied with a canny grin.

Carlos caught sight of Elsa as they passed, and his breath just _**stopped**_. He swallowed hard and then gave a courtly bow and said, "My Queen."

"Good morning, Señor de la Maria." She was very pleased that her voice didn't crack.

Kristoff dragged Carlos along and showed him how to hitch up the sleigh, which the Spaniard maintained was practically identical to the way oxen were hitched to wagons in the Andalusian military. He helped Kristoff check all the straps, then they climbed up onto the driver's bench.

"Okay, El," exclaimed Anna, "do your stuff!"

Sighing, the Queen summoned her magic and created a set of sturdy wheels and axles to support the sleigh. They all swayed a little as the sleigh rose a couple of hand-spans on its new underpinning, then lurched as they took off. They'd done it this way before, and Sven liked how much easier it was to pull on the large wheels.

Once they got north of the city, Anna reached up and tapped Carlos on the shoulder. He cocked an eyebrow her way, to which she responded, "Swap with me."

"I beg your pardon?"

Was that a slight tremor she detected in his voice? Giggling, she replied, "I wanna sit by my almost-hubby."

"Oh. Um …" He couldn't think of a reasonable excuse not to accede to her wish, finally shrugging and standing in the sleigh. He helped her into his seat and then took hers, settling down next to Elsa and maintaining a strictly decorous distance between them.

Elsa just knew there was high color in her cheeks, and hoped she could blame it on early-morning sun and the brisk breeze.

Anna wrapped both her arms around Kristoff's right arm and cuddled in close, laying her head against his shoulder. The pose emphasized the difference in size between the two. It also gave the pair in the rear seat a lot to think about.

After a minute or so, Carlos observed, "Not that I don't consider your city to be attractive in its own way, but the Arendelle countryside is beautiful. Do you really not come out here very often? That's the impression I got from Anna."

It was, to her vast relief, a neutral subject. She cleared her throat and replied, "As you know, I'm relatively new at this 'running a nation' job, and the learning curve has been steep. So, no, not as often as I would have liked."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing from more than one perspective that she talked you into this trip."

"She? I seem to recall _you_ doing most of the persuading last night." Instantly she realized how the phrasing of that sentence might sound out of context, blushed furiously, and turned her head away.

_Oh, Lord, now she's nervous again!_ The very last thing Carlos wanted was to make her uncomfortable. He struggled with his own response, finally deciding on a different tack. He needed for her to be easy enough with him to face him because he desperately desired to be able to look into those eyes for the remainder of the trip. "Nicolai and I had time for quite a bit of conversation yesterday."

She glanced back at him. "Oh?"

"You have made quite an impression on the fellow."

"He's mistaken me for one of his goddesses. After learning a bit more about her, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted."

_Oh, you're a goddess all right, just more in the mold of Aphrodite than Morana._ He pushed the unbidden thought down and said, "I'd choose the former. And, anyway, he may be re-thinking that position."

"How so?"

"Well," he said, turning slightly her way and leaning against the corner, "okay, for one thing, he's quite the anarchist."

"Oh, really."

"Indeed. It is his firm belief that nations and kingdoms and similar such groupings are the bane of human existence, and that we would all be better off if left completely to our own devices, no loyalties, no governments."

"He did say something to me yesterday about politicians needing to be exterminated on principle."

"Heh. Yes. His experiences with governments have been almost uniformly negative. He says he doesn't need to be governed."

"Says the hired killer."

"I didn't mean to imply that his views made any sense."

She rewarded that statement with a tiny smile. "So everyone should just do whatever he wants?"

"Basically."

"That's not a sustainable society."

"Oh, I know. I pointed out several flaws in that plan, the problems with trade in an anarchy, the lack of a rule of law. He dismissed them out of hand as the lesser of evils."

She chewed her lower lip for a moment while thinking that over. "He grew up in the Ural Mountains, didn't he?"

"Correct." He made himself **not** stare at her now-slightly-swollen lip. "Very, very far out in the hinterlands."

"Huh. Well, he told me that his family was killed by a band of barbarian raiders. Seems to me that if he'd been living in an ordered society, with laws and a standing army, there wouldn't have been barbarian raiders in the first place."

"Eh. To an extent, that's true. But Arendelle has one of the most cogent, well-organized systems of law I've heard of, and yet an influx of criminals almost shut the city down. An invasion by eight well-organized assassins DID, briefly."

She hadn't thought of it that way, and was silent for a minute while turning the idea over a few times. Though somewhat lacking in real-world experience, Elsa was very well-read, and these concepts were not new to her. She'd just never had them put together for her in quite this way before.

"Anyway," continued Carlos, "Nic considers you quite the anomaly."

"How so?"

"You care about your people."

She scoffed, "That hardly makes me unique."

He gave her a keen look and replied, "Given my extensively well-traveled background, I would have to disagree."

"… What?"

"The overwhelming majority of heads-of-state care nothing at all for their subjects. They think of them, if they consider them at all, as commodities to be used however they wish."

"Ex_**cuse**_ me?"

"I'm not joking. I've heard many, many rulers and kings and satraps and moguls discussing the people that make up their domains, and the most common feelings among them are that their subjects are a steady source of tax revenue, and that they make good cannon fodder. The idea that commoners might have some kind of intrinsic worth never crosses their minds."

Elsa, when she was able to speak again, ground out, "That's … _unconscionable_!"

"I agree, which is what creates loyalty among the _peons_ who tend my estates. I treat them like people instead of animals or things." He let loose a self-deprecatory chuckle. "Of course, my not being there most of the time and leaving them to their own devices doesn't hurt, either. Although, frankly, I think I need a few lessons from you in how to do it properly. The esteem with which your subjects hold –"

"Citizens."

"… Sorry?"

"They are not subjects of the Crown," she insisted. "They are citizens of Arendelle."

"… Okay. And the difference is?"

She favored him with a small grin. "Well … Okay, the official line is that the inhabitants of Arendelle are citizens because they have a say in the government through the Diet of Aldermen. Any citizen can bring a complaint or suggest a new law to his Alderman. The Diet meets quarterly and presents all those suggestions to the Crown. Now, I will admit that most of them fall somewhere between ridiculous and completely unworkable, but now and then they'll come up with something good. I have twice employed such a suggestion. I have records of where my grandfather adopted at least one new policy after every such meeting. Papa … maybe not so much. Once in a while." She laughed. "Once in a GREAT while. Papa was a good man and his heart was in the right place, but he really did think that his ideas were always best."

That laugh of hers sent a wave of happy chills up his back, but he kept his cool. "I see. So, what's the _unofficial_ line?"

She dimpled, her eyes sparkling. "Everyone is armed."

His face twisted up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"My great-grandfather was very impressed with what he called 'the Swiss Model'. See, the Swiss have been neutral for three centuries, but their country is in a very strategic location. So they're always in danger of somebody trying to invade. Also, they're kind of small, so they can't really field much of a standing army."

"Right, I knew that. I've been to Switzerland. Pretty place."

"But the terrain gives them an advantage over any invading force."

"True."

"And even when it was just a double-handful of powerful families running things, most of the time all the farmers and laborers and so on were able to own weapons. In the rest of Europe, only the nobility could carry swords or crossbows legally. The _Ancien Regime_ understood that an armed citizenry helped keep them safe. The entire population was the militia."

"I can see how that would work in some cases." He chuckled. "Not so much France, though."

"Ugh. Don't remind me. They haven't done ANYTHING right in centuries."

He had to laugh at her expression of distaste. "The French aristocracy pretty much epitomized what I said about how rulers view the common man."

"And they paid for it with their heads."

"That's what happens when the common man finally gets fed up."

"And then the ones that overthrew them spent all the years since the Revolution screwing up the rest of Europe for everyone else. They're a TERRIBLE example! I mean, come on, 'Emperor' Napolean? And even after he got exiled, the House of Bourbon acted like they hadn't learned a thing, invading Spain. Then Orleans overthrew them and, as we speak, they're screwing up just as badly!"

"Hey, I'm not arguing the point. I'm just saying that they are more the norm than the exception."

Elsa was silent for a few moments. "I think I got us kind of off-track."

"Oh?"

"Citizen versus subject. The unofficial line is that citizens are armed and subjects are not."

"I thought that might be where you were going with that."

"The whole French experience just gets me exercised. I had a lot of debates about them with my tutors, and with Kai. There were many strong opinions."

"Oh, it's not as if the French are the only ones completely eaten up with stupid. My countrymen are right there, too. It's just that we usually pick on each other instead of some foreign nation, at least since the Armada sank."

Some minutes passed in silence while Elsa ran through everything they'd talked about. "Very well. Discounting the horrid example of France, where the aristocracy is patently insane, most of what you said had to do with war between countries. That still doesn't answer my basic question. How can a king possibly manage a kingdom if his people don't love him? Or at least respect him? I can't believe that's … just the way it's done!"

"You have had the Arendahl line as your model. From what I've picked up, your father and his father were both just and fair, well liked by the populace."

"That's … that's true. But surely to goodness there are others like them!"

Carlos pondered her statement for a bit. "Are you familiar with a Roman Caesar named Caligula?"

Her brows drew together in thought. "I … believe I have heard the name. Was he a good ruler?"

"Absolutely not. He was a terror, and he brought pain and suffering and war and death and insanity to the Roman Empire."

She began to look sort of queasy. "Are you going to tell me that HE is some sort of template for rule?"

"Not in so many words. But he has a rather famous saying, apropos to the discussion. To answer your question of how a king can rule a kingdom if his people don't love him, Caligula said, 'I care not if they hate me, so long as they fear me.' That's how he ruled."

"… Through fear."

"Yes."

"And that's how other rulers do it?"

"Basically, yes."

"That's sick."

"I can't tell you how pleased I am that you feel that way."

"Surely such a system can't be sustained!"

"You would be surprised what a people will put up with. So many places around the world have had so many horrible governments that the inhabitants are resigned to it. They've been through revolutions, and come out with simply a different kind of tyranny. They've been through war after war after war, and seen no improvement in their circumstances." He shook his head. "Your dynasty was right to stay out of European conflicts. No one ever truly wins a war, at least not since the Pax Romana, and while Rome may have achieved some great things, they did it via the misery of millions. I've seen enough wars to have learned one thing beyond doubt: there is really only one outcome when one ruler's hubris comes up against another's, and that outcome is that innocent people die."

Elsa grew very quiet after that, and Carlos let her alone to think. It gave him some time to enjoy the scenery (the scenery not riding with him in the sleigh) and track their progress.

After a while, she spoke up. "What does all that have to do with whether or not Nicolai thinks I'm one of his goddesses?"

It took him a second to catch back up. "Ah … right. Yes, he said it was because you are too merciful."

"That's funny. He said that to me yesterday."

"His interpretation of the goddess in question is that she is a reliably vindictive sort. Morana's husband is a cheat and she kills him every year around Yule. She represents winter, which is at least as fierce in the Urals as it is here, and takes no prisoners, and by proxy she is also the goddess of death." He nodded in Elsa's direction. "That you are as just and merciful as you are has him in deep doubt now about your connection to Morana."

"God be thanked for small favors."

He leaned back in his seat and laughed heartily at that.

Elsa flushed with warmth and smiled to herself. She liked to make him laugh that way. _I could very easily get very used to that laugh._

After that, their conversation ranged around dozens of topics, and neither seemed inclined to stop. In fact, from Anna's perspective, they both looked like they were enjoying themselves immensely. She wisely refrained from interrupting.

. . .

. . .

Elsa had to dispel the wheels just before nine o'clock, when the snow covering the permafrost became too deep for them. Around nine-thirty they got to the point where the sleigh wouldn't make it past the last sharp turn, and got out to hoof it the rest of the way. With Elsa in the lead (she really was looking forward to seeing her castle and its icy guardian again) they marched around the final wall of rock. Anna watched Carlos closely, and his reaction was every bit the reward she'd expected.

He got a good look at the ice palace and stopped dead, his mouth hanging open. He took another few small steps, eyes drinking in the majesty and beauty of the place, and finally whispered, "By the saints!"

Anna elbowed him. "Pretty impressive, eh?"

"… Words fail me. Literally."

"I know, right?" crowed Kristoff, maneuvering the hamper around to one arm so he could slap Carlos on the back. "Come on! It's even better inside."

As they approached the long, elegant stairway, a huge boulder of snow and ice unfolded and stood to meet them. Carlos stopped again, his eyes huge. "That's Marshmallow?"

"Yep." Anna waved to the snow golem and ran over to him, hugging one leg. "Hey, Marsh! Long time, no see!"

But the creature only had eyes for Elsa. Joyfully, he scooped her up and hugged her close. "Mommy!"

For her part, Elsa really was quite chagrined that she hadn't been up here to see him before. It had been more than a year! She hugged him back, a few tears leaking past her lashes. "Marshmallow! I'm so happy to see you."

"Marshmallow keep it safe, Mommy! Marshmallow keep it safe for you!"

"And you did a wonderful job."

"Marshmallow try fix stairs, but Marshmallow fall again."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Were you hurt?"

"Just pack on more snow." He lifted the leg Anna wasn't clinging to so he could show her. She noticed it was a good bit bigger than the other.

"Oh, Sweetie! Here, put me down and I'll fix it for you."

He deposited her carefully on the snow, and Anna let go and backed away. Elsa began weaving her hands in intricate patterns. The snow around the golem spiraled up and sheathed him for a few moments. There was a quick burst of light, and the mini-tempest vanished. Anna and Kristoff both gasped.

Carlos was still in his initial state of shock, glancing constantly from the ice monster to the nearly-unbelievable beauty of the palace as it sat there scintillating in the late-morning light, so he didn't notice the change at first. But then he saw what the others had immediately picked up on. "Hey. He's … armored."

"Yes, he is," agreed Elsa. She walked up to the golem, who was admiring his newly-refurbished limbs. "Some bad men attacked him before, and hurt him. I don't want that happening again."

"Marshmallow feel STRONG!" roared the golem.

"That's because you are, Sweetie." She glanced back at Carlos. "This is the same material I used for that sword I made Nicolai. If anyone else tries to pull a 'Hans' on us, he'll be in for a rude shock."

"I should think so."

Elsa turned her attention to the staircase. "You can see where the fight damaged it. I don't know that I'd trust it enough to walk on it now."

"Marshmallow walk on. Stairs make squeaky noise."

"I'll just bet they do." She studied the flight for a moment, then shook her head. "It'll be easier to replace than repair. Hold up a moment."

Anna moved over to stand beside Carlos and whispered, "This is great! She's in her element here."

He could only stare in wonder. "This is all very nearly beyond belief. And you said she built this in a single night?"

"She sure did. That sister of mine is damned impressive."

Carlos merely nodded dumbly.

With a gesture, Elsa banished the original staircase, the sparkly motes wafting down into the gorge. Then she stared hard at the chasm and a new construction sprang into being, wide and graceful and elegant, at once more delicate and yet vastly stronger than its predecessor. She looked up at Marshmallow. "I made it wide enough for you to walk on it safely now."

He leaned down (way down) and hugged her. "Thank you, Mommy!"

Elsa indicated that they should follow her and mounted the stairs. Stopping on the fifth one, she turned and looked at Kristoff. "Would Sven like to come, too?"

"Oh, he'd love it!"

"Go get him. We'll wait."

He all but dropped the lunch hamper and scampered away. It took much less than a minute to retrieve Sven, and the party trooped up the stairs.

Inside, things were much less welcoming. Drifts of snow, much of it left from the violent storms of the previous winter, nearly hid two of the walls, and long, angry spikes of ice stood out from practically every surface. They all stopped just inside the ornate doors and stared around. Elsa took a few slow steps toward the center.

"This is wrong."

Anna startled. "Wrong? What's wrong?"

"Wrong that I left it like this." She bit back a sob and wiped at her eyes. "Wrong that I let my fears get to me this badly." She turned to her sister and strode over quickly, wrapping her in a fierce hug. "Wrong that I hurt you. And I'm so, so sorry!"

"Elsa! Listen, it's not your fault. It was never your fault. You were asked to make chicken salad out of chicken shit, and that won't work for anybody."

The Queen jerked back and stared at Anna, blindsided by the earthy idiom. "What was that?"

Anna waved it off. "Heard that from one of the gardeners. Doesn't matter. You were put into a no-win situation. I really, really wish that Papa and Mama had … done something different. Anything, if you want to know the brutal truth. The fix they came up with only reinforced your fears." She hugged Elsa back, settling her forehead into the crook of the taller girl's neck. "You've done better with what they gave you than anybody else would've, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise."

The two just stood there for a bit, gaining strength from each other's love while the men tried not to feel awkward about it. Elsa finally pulled back a little and looked at Anna. "You're right. I did the best I could, and I can't really ask more of myself than that."

"No, you can't."

"We'll start over." She let Anna go and took a good look around. "This will be the REAL new beginning."

"… Meaning?"

"Meaning the past is in the past and this time I am jolly well going to LEAVE it there." Turning slightly from Anna, she gave Carlos a meaningful look and then whirled into action.

The magic flowed from her raised arms as he watched, captivated. First the icy detritus was swept into a pile, which condensed into a huge snowball that floated far up into the air and then disintegrated. The wicked spikes that had grown in so many places retreated into the walls, leaving them smooth and pristine. Moving around the great hall with measured precision, she set every last thing to rights before climbing the spiral staircase to the next level. Due to the construction of the stair, this time Marshmallow and Sven were compelled to stay on the ground floor.

The spikes and the damage were even worse here, where the actual battle had taken place, and retained some of their red character, a reflection of the abject terror Elsa had felt at the time. She only faltered for a second, but then firmed up her chin and let the magic take flight around the room. The broken balcony mended itself, the wide doors coming into being again from where they had broken off. Then she turned her attention to the high, vaulted ceiling, and from the stub of the old chandelier a new one grew. It wasn't the same as the original, but Elsa had come to understand that the fractals would generally form up however they wanted. Sure, they would follow her basic instructions, but when she applied her elemental abilities to bring about crystalline order to simple water, it took on a life of its own (and sometimes stayed that way, as Marshmallow and Olaf demonstrated). She let the icy construction follow its will, murmuring, "It is meet and right so to do."

In not many minutes at all, the entire palace stood unblemished, perfect and serene. With a final wave, she caused the chandelier to glow a dazzling white, and millions of rainbows jumped from the walls. Her guests gasped.

"This," stated Carlos, "has got to be the most beautiful … _**object**_ on the entire planet!"

"Yeah," agreed Kristoff, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "What you said."

Anna moved up beside her sister and laced her fingers into Elsa's cool ones. "Wow."

The Queen giggled. "Thanks. Glad you like it."

"Do you have to think about it to keep it going?"

"The light? No. It just … IS. It will last as long as the ice does."

A one-armed hug pulled the sisters close. "Again I say, wow."

Kristoff cleared his throat. "Um … I don't know how you all might feel about it, but for me it's been six hours since breakfast, and –"

Elsa's stomach gurgled loudly enough that it echoed slightly in the big room, and she blushed bright red.

Anna bent over, slapped her knees and cackled. "That's two 'Yes' votes, for sure! Yeah, lunch sounds good. Elsa, you got a table in this fancy joint?"

A large table and four chairs grew out of the floor, and Kristoff set the hamper in the middle. Anna then proceeded to place the dinner ware and dole out the bread and cheese and fruit and spiced meat. When everyone was seated and the wine poured, Elsa picked up her glass. "If I may?"

They all directed their attention her way.

She gave a small cough and colored slightly. "This is, ah … much nicer than I was expecting it would be." Looking at her sister, she said, "I'm sorry I doubted you. I feel …" She grasped for a word. "… I feel sort of the same way I did the night I created this place: free. Except now it's so much better because now I'm not alone. And I'm not running from anything." Her eyes flicked past Carlos and her cheeks pinked again.

Anna's grin nearly split her face.

"Um … I've been, ah, distracted lately. Badly distracted. For, I don't know, months at least. I'm very much afraid that there are … important things that I have neglected. Circumstances have misdirected my attention away from what matters most: the relationships with my family and friends. Without that, being Queen wouldn't really mean much." She swallowed hard, paused to collect herself, turned shimmering eyes to the others, and raised her glass. "To new beginnings."

There was a loud, lengthy, and universal acclamation of her toast.

. . .

. . .

After lunch, Elsa showed off the view from the balcony. She created a spyglass from clear ice (which Carlos marveled over with a small, incredulous grin never leaving his face) and let them all have a go with it. A bit of the city of Arendelle was visible to the south if one knew where to look.

After a few minutes had passed, they all heard Sven bellowing below. Kristoff rolled his eyes and said, "Sorry. He's probably lonely. I'll go see to him."

Carlos and Elsa hardly paid that any attention at all, being engrossed in finding new things to look at with the telescope.

Anna simply observed them quietly for a bit, smirking to herself. At length she asked, "Elsa, are there any, um, facilities in the castle?"

Her sister gave her a tiny smile of reassurance. "All the amenities. It's on the first level, just swing around under the stair when you get to the bottom, go down the first hall you see, and it will be at the end on the right."

"Dang, girl, you think of everything."

"Sadly, no. But I'm working on it."

Anna scampered off.

Perhaps twenty minutes had passed before Elsa started to think that maybe her sister was taking too long. Then it occurred to her that she hadn't seen Kristoff again, either. Sighing, she thought, _The wedding is Sunday. All of four days until they can … '__whatever'__ to their hearts' content._ She stole a glance at Carlos, who was trying to bring the fjord into focus, and blushed. _Well. I did tell her that I understood her motivation, and I did promise that I wouldn't say any more about it. It's her life after all, and there's no one else around up here to be scandalized._ She resolved not to think about it and turned her attention back to the gorgeous man on her balcony. _Stop it, brain!_

But at the end of another hour, and after having strolled around most of the castle with Carlos in that time, and after seeing neither boot nor bonnet of her sister, Elsa began to be concerned. "Carlos?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if I took a look into the astral plane?"

"Goodness, no! Why would I mind?"

"Oh, I don't know. I didn't know if it would bother you."

"Not in the least. What are you looking for?"

"My sister."

That startled him. He hadn't even noticed the passage of time and now he pulled out his pocket watch. "Well. Perhaps we should both …"

"Um … no. I, uh, don't think that would be a good idea."

His look of utter bafflement prompted her to continue, "They may be, um, occupied with one another."

It was Carlos's turn to blush then. "I see. Yes, why don't you try by yourself?"

Elsa called up the portal and launched herself into the silvery void, casting her mind about for another human (or pair thereof). But after a couple of minutes of searching, she came up empty. She was more than a bit alarmed when she landed back on the material plane. "Carlos, I can't find her!"

"… But that shouldn't be possible! You have a closer link with her than with any other being on Earth. If she's nearby, locating her should be practically a reflex."

"So does that mean she's NOT nearby?"

He considered that briefly. "That's the most logical explanation."

"But why would she … you don't think they were kidnapped, do you?"

They looked at each other for seconds only before bolting for the stairs. Once on the main floor, they spotted Marshmallow crouched by the entrance and ran over. "Marshmallow!"

"Mommy!"

"Sweetie, did you see Anna and Kristoff come down?"

"Marshmallow see. They go outside. Tell Marshmallow 'shush'."

"… What?"

"Anna tell Marshmallow 'shush', not be loud. Tell Marshmallow 'stay here'."

The Queen's eyes narrowed as she put two and two together. "She wouldn't have. Surely not. SURELY not!"

Running outside, she called up a large chunk of ice, jumped on, and rode it down to where the sled had been parked. Instead of the sturdy conveyance, there was a note pinned to a rod stuck in the ground. With steadily mounting anger, she ripped the note off and read it.

_Sis –_

_First of all, calm down. Getting mad won't solve anything._

_Second, please trust me. It's worked fine so far, right?_

_Third, this is what you need. I know it, solid like a rock, and you would too, if you really thought about it for five seconds._

_This is time for YOU, without having to worry about anyone else. Just relax. Get Carlos to show you that lie-detector thing. Practice zipping around in astro-world or whatever it was you said you did to shore up the palace defenses. It sounded like fun. Heck, build some snowmen. The point is to do what you WANT to do, not what ANYONE else EXPECTS you to do. You get enough of that crap just being Queen, and that's not even mentioning what you went through growing up._

_Speaking of expectations, the ball will go on as planned. Everyone on staff knows where you are, that you are safe and are taking some much-needed time to yourself so you can decompress after that whole assassin thing._

_Elsa, please know that I love you. I want to see you happy. Joyful, even. And lately that's just been really hard._

_At lunch you gave a toast to new beginnings. This is the best way to start that I could think of._

_Kristoff and I will be back for you tomorrow afternoon. Not that I think he'll need them, being Mr. Fiery Flame and all, but I left some extra blankets under the stairs for Carlos. And no, before you object, I DON'T think anyone will give a tinker's dam that you two are up there without a chaperon. You're crazy powerful now. It's not as if he could force himself on you, and I don't think for a second that thought would ever even cross his mind. He loves you too much._

_Yeah, I said it. Deal._

_I guess that's all. I really hope you see this for the opportunity that it is. I know that if you decide not to stay there, you won't stay there. For all that, you could probably be back in Arendelle before we are if you felt like it. But, Elsa, please, for me, just give it a shot. Okay? I really do think it's that important._

_Love (seriously),_

_Anna_

Elsa was crying freely by the time she got to the end, sank to her knees in the snow, and clutched the note to her chest. That's how Carlos found her, and he ran to her side in an instant.

"Elsa! What's wrong? Is she okay?"

She blinked at him, and stuttered through a watery smile, "She's s-s-so much more than okay."

"Oh. Um, good. Then where …"

"I'll explain. In a little while." She looked at letter again, kissed it, and folded it up carefully. Standing, she turned to him and asked, "Have you ever been in a position where you realized that someone loved you beyond your ability to comprehend?"

"Ah … well, as to that … no. I can't say as I have."

Her smile grew utterly refulgent. "It feels wonderful."

. . .

. . .


	20. Relaxation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 19: Relaxation**

. . .

. . .

_Wednesday 28 July 1841, 12:30pm_

Once they got back inside, Elsa looked under the stairs and pulled out a tall stack of brightly-colored woolen blankets. Giving Carlos an arch look, she asked, "So was she right?"

"About the blankets? Yeah. They aren't necessary." But then he caught himself and clarified, "Not for warmth. I think it would be nice to have them to sleep ON instead of just ice."

She put on a hurt expression. "But I can make my snow soft! Therefore your bed would be soft."

"Ah, but remember, _your_ body simply isn't affected by the cold, so the snow stays with you. In my case, my body gives off a heat aura to _offset_ the cold, and that would just melt the bed and leave me soggy."

"… Hmm. Okay. Good point." She gave him a grin, picturing him dripping wet. "I guess the blankets were a good idea, then."

"A better solution than a pile of pine boughs, which I can tell you from sad experience makes a very sorry bed."

Her tinkling laugh sent a tremor through him. He thought, _I'll have to think up something truly epic to thank Anna for this._

_Oh, really?_ The other side of his psyche struck a sarcastic pose._You'll thank her for drawing out the pain? For giving you even **more** memories that you won't be able to erase for centuries?_

_Shut up._

_Hey, you wanna swim around in D'Nial, it's none of my lookout. Better watch out for heart-eating crocodiles, though._

"Are you worried about something?"

He chased the ghosts away and turned his attention to the incredible woman standing beside him. "I'm sorry. Woolgathering. Bad habit."

She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "You probably make a lot of connections."

He knew immediately what she meant and nodded. "All the time. I've gotten so used to running into _déjà vu_ situations that I don't pay them any attention anymore, because, yeah, I HAVE seen it before, usually more than once."

She stared past him vaguely for a while, until he was finally prompted to ask, "Is something amiss?"

Slowly raising her gaze to his face, she focused on him. "Pardon?"

"Did I say something wrong?" He really, really didn't want to lose the light mood they'd achieved. Fun-Happy Elsa was a mind-blowingly gorgeous Elsa. On the other hand, Distressed Elsa made his heart want to stop.

"Oh. No. You didn't, but …" Trailing off, she made a gesture of uselessness with one hand. "It's just that … I realize, you see, assuming you _are_ correct and I _am_ Fey-touched, that will be me, too. Eventually."

He didn't speak, but shortly gave her a small, guarded nod.

Not quite able to suppress a sigh, she said, "Let's go back upstairs." Once they arrived, she checked in the hamper, noting with a complete lack of surprise that Anna had left them ample food, as well as a decent-sized flask of _akvavit_ and no fewer than six bottles of wine. _No wonder Kristoff had a bit of difficulty carrying it! _"Carlos?"

He came to stand beside her. "Do you need something?"

"Yes. I need a stiff drink." She picked up one of the bottles, and the corkscrew, and a pair of glasses, handing them to her companion. Then she snagged the flask of _akvavit_ and headed for the balcony, Carlos following. Once they were comfortably in the sun, she created a couple of well-contoured chairs and a small, round table, then draped a blanket over one of the chairs, saying, "That's so you don't feel you have to melt it."

He grinned at her, placed his burden on the table, held out a hand toward her chair and, once she was seated, eased himself down. "Hmm. Nice," he observed, wiggling a couple of times. "You could go into furniture design if that Snow Queen thing doesn't work out."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks." She opened the _akvavit_ and poured a generous three fingers for each of them, then tossed off a good third of hers, not turning a hair.

Her action surprised him, but he didn't mention it. "So what else did her note say?"

Elsa smiled fondly. "Oh, she was just encouraging me to stay here and take some time for myself. In Anna-speak, so it took her a few paragraphs." She pressed a hand to her bosom. "I have, without a doubt, the best sister in the history of ever, to use one of her phrases. All the coordination she must have done with the staff to get everything prepared and …" She dropped her head and wiped a bit of wetness off her cheek. "She's just … she's beyond wonderful."

"I can see that." He sipped his drink, his eyes widening in pleasure at the subtle blend of flavors. He caught ginger and lingonberry … and was that fennel seed? Fascinating. "You're lucky to have her."

"Yeah." A companionable silence fell. She finished her glass, and began to feel noticeably more relaxed. Presently an eagle drifted by high overhead, catching Carlos's attention. He motioned to Elsa and pointed it out. "Would you like to learn a neat trick?"

"When would I not?"

"Okay, the thing is that you can project your mind into that of certain other animals."

She pursed her lips and gave him a tiny frown. "That sounds … perhaps a bit dangerous."

"No, no, you don't … okay, it's like you use the animal's mind as a sort of a window. I've only ever been able to do it with birds of prey. Hamaraja could do it with any animal, and with more than one at a time. And in his case, he could actually communicate with them."

"Oh, now that DOES sound fun!"

"And useful. He had a brace of tigers that hung around his place and acted as lookouts. And backup, if he needed it."

"Tigers. I've seen drawings of a tiger. Large, cat-like creatures with stripes, yes?"

"Yes, very large. His were some four paces long from nose to tail."

That gave Elsa a distinctly unpleasant chill. "That big?"

"They get bigger. Some can weigh three or four times as much as a man."

"Good Lord."

"Beautiful animals, but I could tell that they considered me nothing more than a snack, and from what I learned about them over time, a tiger can kill a man with one swipe of its paw or one bite from those massive jaws."

"I'm glad we don't have any around here."

"You've got wolves. That's bad enough."

"Ugh, don't remind me! Anna and Kristoff nearly got eaten by a pack."

"Oh. I, uh, didn't know that."

"Let's change the subject." She pointed at the eagle. "How does one go about inserting one's mind into a bird?"

"Okay, first …" and he immediately trailed off.

"Yes? First?"

"Huh. First we have to talk about telepathy a little bit."

"Telepathy?" She rolled it around on her tongue. "That's an odd word."

"It means communicating mind-to-mind. It's part of what I wanted to teach you about lie-detecting."

"Ah. Go on." She took the flask in her left hand and picked up her glass in the other, cradling the stem languidly in her palm. Then she added two fingers of the strong spirit and took a sip, frowned slightly, sent a light covering of frost over the surface, and gently swirled the contents around. Another sip was accompanied by a satisfied smile. Suddenly Carlos noticed that she was sending a half-lidded gaze over the rim of the glass that he, when he recovered (a little) from its effects, could only describe as illegally sultry.

He tried to fight down that trapped-deer feeling. Why was she looking at him like that? It was horribly distracting. This was going to be hard enough under the best of circumstances, as he would be skirting perilously close to topics he'd rather not broach at all. _Oh, well, into the fray!_ "Um … right. Okay. Please keep in mind that I'm not the expert here. I've had a good bit of practice, but I really don't have much natural aptitude. You will more than likely outstrip my abilities in short order, just the way you did with your handling of the astral plane."

She favored him with a secretive smirk. "I wouldn't worry about that too much."

"I'm not _worried_. I'm just making sure you understand that there are better tutors than I."

"But you're the one I have."

_You HAVE me in more ways than one_, was the very next thought that skittered across his mind. He smacked it down emphatically.

She repositioned herself on the chair, crossed her (Perfect! Amazing!) legs, and aimed a now-peeking-through-the-material knee at his nose.

He cleared his throat, cleared it again, and took a long swallow of akvavit, appreciating the slow burn and wishing that he could actually get tipsy on it. She was getting him entirely too exercised, and he wasn't at all sure that she didn't know _exactly_ what she was doing to him. "Um. Yes. Right." Collecting his thoughts, he concentrated on the topic at hand. "There are at least five different kinds of telepathy, each of which operates with one or more of the three regions of the mind, and each one requires a different approach to use and a different discipline to master. You've already experienced one kind, when we spoke while in the astral plane together. Some purists wouldn't call that telepathy at all, since we both have to be plane-walking for it to work, and the range is very limited, and it only uses the outer layer of the mindscape."

"It just felt like talking to me."

"Yes, it does, but there was no actual voice involved, just thought patterns being carried on the aether. It isn't true mind-to-mind contact."

"Huh. I never noticed that. Okay. What else?"

"There is a discipline called Empathy; it splits into Empathic Sensitivity and Empathic Projection. At least that's how I learned it from Hamaraja. They're his terms."

"Very well. What do they do?"

"An Empathic Sensitive can read other people's emotions."

"What, and tell whether someone is happy or angry or scared?"

"Exactly. Some can use it to tell whether someone is lying to them, sort of like what I'll teach you, but that's a different field."

She smirked. "If you say so."

"Hey, don't make fun. This is serious stuff."

That won him a giggle. It was possible, he surmised, that she was feeling the effects of the excellent spirit they were drinking.

He drew a long breath and cleared his throat again. "Empathic Projection is a little … darker. It allows you to transfer your emotional state to someone else."

"Um … I don't think I like the sound of that."

"Wise. Hijacking someone else's emotions is, to me, a horrible thing to do. Like kidnapping, only worse."

"So somebody could make you mad when there was nothing to be mad about?"

"Exactly. And that example is probably the most common way it gets used."

"But why?"

"To pick a fight."

An exasperated huff escaped her lips. "More of that political maneuvering."

"Frequently."

She frowned, "Carlos …"

"Yes?"

"Can people who aren't Fey-touched do that?"

"Oh, yes. There are regions I've been through where gifts like that seem to run in families. Also, any witch worth the title can do a little Empathic Projection."

"That sounds like personal experience speaking."

"Ah-huh. Well, she did try."

That earned him a dimple. "But you were too strong-willed to fall for it?"

"Oh, I think it was just that she didn't have a lot of power on her own. She was using an artifact to boost her force, and once that was destroyed …"

"Ah. I see." She knocked back the rest of her drink, and covered a tiny burp. "Pardon me."

"Akvavit will do that."

"Doesn't seem to be doing it to you."

He grinned again. "I've had a lot more practice at keeping the overt signs disguised."

Her gaze fell to her hands, and she mumbled, "I guess you've had a lot more practice at everything."

His immediate thought was, "I wouldn't say 'everything'."

She gave him a quizzical glance.

He realized he'd said that out loud, and popped a sudden sweat. "Um, I, um … I mean …"

"If it bothers you, don't feel like you have to spill your guts or anything."

He took a few moments and quieted his mind. "I'm sorry. There are simply a lot of things that I'm not sure about."

"Same here."

He quirked an eyebrow. "… Oh?"

Staring into her drink, she chilled it again, took a sip, sighed, took another sip, caught his eye, and drained the glass. Fortified by the liquid courage, she drew a long breath, blew it out, and said, "We met last Thursday."

Suddenly uneasy, he nodded.

"The first time I saw you, I … there was …" She gestured absently with her free hand. "This feeling. I couldn't describe it at the time. Now, I feel pretty sure it was our common heritage interacting on some level. But I didn't have a frame of reference. It was sort of a shock and sort of a recognition, but I didn't know what I was recognizing. All I knew was that it was new and different and … and wonderful and a little scary and … and I didn't want to lose it."

Wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

"I, uh, tried to locate you again. I had my people find out where you were staying and sent you an invitation. And I talked it over with Anna." Her eyes darted upward to meet his for just the tiniest instant, then returned to her glass. "It was … disturbing."

"I felt it, too.

"When we met?"

He nodded.

"I'd thought as much. I didn't see how you couldn't."

"I spent the entire night brooding about it in my hotel room."

"Really?" That brought her eyes up. "Brooding?"

"That reaction was a lot more … _visceral_ than anything I'd expected."

"But you _were_ expecting something, right? You knew about me; you said so."

"The tales floating around Europe made me intensely curious. Then I found out what that Cardinal was up to, and knew I had to do something. And once here, I was all but sure that you were Fey-touched, especially after hearing the stories of Anna getting frozen and thawed, and then meeting Olaf. But I didn't know … hadn't really had any way to anticipate …"

While he searched for a word, Elsa said, "The intensity?"

"Yes. The depth. The scope of the reaction." He held her gaze for a few seconds, then sighed deeply and rose, heading back inside.

"Where are you going?"

"Where we must all go periodically. I'll be right back."

She fought off a giggle. She had no idea if the Fey had the same sorts of bodily functions as humans, but it was a tiny bit comforting to realize that this was yet another thing they shared with the rest of humanity.

Carlos made his way down to the facilities. In truth, he didn't have much of a need for them. But he did need a few minutes to collect his thoughts.

_No matter what you do, it's going to come to light very soon._

_Maybe not._

_Don't be stupid. Go ahead and get it out in the open._

_That shouldn't be necessary. We can talk around it._

_But you can't mind-cast around it, though, can you?_

… _um …_

_You've got to tell her._

_I don't, you know._

_Don't you think it would be better to break it to her honestly instead of having her find out and thinking you were trying to hide it?_

_She doesn't have to find out._

_I like your reality. Let's go live there. I'd love to finally meet a unicorn._

_Shut up._

His argue-self had a point. Once they got into the tricky parts, where he had to actually be in contact with her mind, she was bound to get a clue.

_You promised her that you would never tell her a lie._

_And I won't!_

_Falsehood by omission is still falsehood. Sitting on information to cover your ass is a BAD IDEA._

He really had no valid response to that. By the time he had finished and returned to the 'balcony level', he had very nearly made up his mind to tell her everything. _But not yet_, he cautioned himself. If she was going to throw him out, he would at least teach her lie-detecting and healing first. It wouldn't make up for the insult to her mind, but he could do that much for her.

She hadn't moved from her seat (although she was draped over it very fetchingly), and offered him a pleasant smile. "I … like … akvavit."

"From the way you're being very careful with pronunciation, I'd say the akvavit is liking you back pretty hard."

"You know how some people … get maudlin … when they drink?"

"Oh, yes."

"And some get vilonent … violent?"

"I've seen it all too often."

"Well I just get happy."

"That's good to know. A drunken-angry Snow Queen could be bad news for everyone."

"Don' I know it."

"So are you drunk, or just a little tipsy?"

"Prob'ly somewhere in between." She held up the flask, peered at it owlishly, and shook it. "I'd say 'bout half full." The motion dislodged her dress slightly, and it slid to the side, exposing a delicious length of flawless calf.

He tilted his head back and forth, taking in the view and trying to control his breathing. "Did you do that on purpose?"

She blinked at him fuzzily. "Do what?"

_Answer carefully, Carlos._ "Um … Get blitzed."

"You betcha."

"But why? I don't think I can teach you much until you sober up."

"I got faith in you. Le's give it a w'irl."

"Oooookay. Humm." He studied the situation and shrugged. "So. The, uh, discipline that you need for lie-detecting is called Psychomancy."

She giggled. "Mancy-Shmancy."

He threw up his hands. "Oh, THIS is going to work well."

Another giggle. "Sorry 'bout that. I'll be good."

He savagely suppressed his brain's automatic response to that last sentence. "Fine. The first thing you have to learn in Psychomancy is how to build a psychic shield. Once you've got that, and you understand how it works, you can use that knowledge to tap into someone else's mind while keeping yours safe. Also, if the other person has a shield, you can learn how to deconstruct it."

"Sounds painful."

"It can be very painful for the person you're infiltrating, if he puts up a fight." He took his seat again, but only perched on the edge. "You recall what I said earlier about the regions of the mind?"

"Y'said there were three."

"Hmm. Maybe you aren't as sloshed as I thought. Okay, well, you can think of them kind of like the layers in an onion. The outer region is what shows up when you look for someone via the astral plane."

"Y'mean all those li'l red dots we saw?"

"Right. It's not something most people know anything about. With rigorous training, you can learn to mask that layer, but it's not very easy, and even then an adept could still find you most of the time."

Elsa let that percolate for a bit, then said, "So that's what the shield's for?"

"Oh, no. The psychic shield is to protect access to the second and third regions."

She covered a yawn, gave her head a slight shake, and asked, "Do these places have names?"

"Not that I've heard. But descriptively, the outer region is sort of like the mind's courtyard. Anybody can look at it and see what's going on. The next layer is where the will resides, and most of the day-to-day work of thinking happens, and you can think of it like living areas in the palace. Very busy, lots of traffic. Then the inner region, which houses the soul, you may think of as a sort of keep or fortress, a final redoubt in times of trouble."

She stared at him keenly for a few seconds. "And that's what sorcerers give up to the demons in exchange for power?"

"Exactly."

"Idiots."

"No argument there. Anyway, Hamaraja taught me as much as he thought I could handle. I'm nobody's idea of an adept, but I can use most of the techniques to some extent, and lie detection is a useful place to start."

"Sounds good. What do I do?"

"Do you remember that deep, meditative state that you learned when I was showing you how to access the astral plane?"

"You mean, like, two days ago?"

_She sounds more like her sister when she's had a few._ "Yes, two days ago."

"Sure do."

"That's where we begin. We'll meditate together, then I'll mind-cast and find the boundaries of your second region. Then I'll let you see my own shield and show you how it's constructed, and then you can try one yourself."

"Works for me."

"Now, I don't know how your being tipsy is going to affect this. You might not be able to see my shield, and I might not be able to find a distinct boundary in your mind. We'll just have to see."

Elsa folded her legs up onto the chair and got comfortable. Carlos tried not to stare too obviously. She closed her eyes and began the breathing exercises, quickly slipping into that tranquil state.

Carlos followed suit, and soon felt ready to contact her mind. His psyche reached out to hers, carefully, gingerly so as not to disturb …

The wall he slammed into stopped him colder than any other such shield he'd encountered since leaving Madagasikara. The shock was sufficient to break his concentration, and his eyes flew open with a gasp. He sat up and gaped at the woman relaxing two paces away.

"Elsa?"

She startled, her eyes fluttered a bit, and she looked over at him. Grinning, she said, "That's three."

Completely stumped by that statement, he said, "Beg pardon?"

"That's the third time you've used my name. Twice just in the last hour or so. I'd call that progress."

"Um … what do …?"

"Don't worry about it." Her smile turned impish. "Did you decide you'd rather wait on the lesson? 'cause I'm not _drunk_-drunk and I really do think I can handle it."

"I, um … I have no doubt on that score."

"Then why'd you stop?"

"Because it isn't necessary. You already possess the second-strongest psychic shield I've ever seen, much stronger than mine."

"… What?"

"Yes. Seriously."

"But … but how?"

"I would assume that it's innate, another aspect of your magic. In any case, I could no more penetrate it than I could punch through an anvil. If you want me to teach you the lie detection trick, you'll have to open the shield so I can get inside."

"And how would I know how to do that?"

"Hmm. Good question."

And then the stunning realization hit, the truth washing over him like the freshest of cold waters, sending chills racing everywhere: he had NOT initiated a Dreamwalk with her against her will. It wouldn't have been possible.

His growing, incredulous grin caught her attention. "What's so funny?"

"I didn't do it." It was barely a whisper, but chock-full of glee.

"Didn't do what?"

_This solves everything! I didn't rape her mind! It must have been nothing but a vision!_ But that thought stopped him and made him blink a few times. _It was her, though. It WAS her. It couldn't have been anyone else. How, then, did I …_

"Hello? You hazing out on me there? I thought you said you couldn't get drunk."

"Elsa!"

His sudden vehemence made her jerk back with a small "Eep!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He waved his hands around in his growing excitement. "I'm just … it's simply the best news. Best possible news …"

"You can't help me learn something, and that's good news?" She slipped off the chair and stood, looking down at him in concern. "Are you feelin' okay?"

_You're not the bad guy!_

_I know, right?_

_That means you don't …_

_I don't have to leave!_

_You can stay and …_

_I can pay her court!_

_You'll have the chance to …_

_It's perfect! Beyond perfect! Okay, I'll take it slow and not scare her off and …_

"Carlos!"

He realized he was standing, too, and that she was not even an arm's length away, looking up at him in alarm.

"I said, Are you okay?"

His grin would probably leave permanent stretch marks. "My Dear Queen, I am so far past 'okay' I can't even see it from here." Dropping to one knee, he placed a closed fist against his chest. "Elsa of Arendelle, I pledge you now my life and loyalty, my courage and honor, my strength and my sword, and humbly submit my request to become an official citizen of your kingdom." And he opened his hand and held it out to her.

Utterly taken aback by this sudden change in the man who had been so formally diffident until just seconds ago, she had to make herself take a breath. "… My word." Her own hand had sought her throat as she struggled to adapt. "Carlos … I … well, yes, of course … a citizen. Absolutely. I am … honored. And touched." Hesitantly, with a couple of false starts, she dropped her hand toward his. Their fingertips met …

. . .

. . .

_Elsewhere_

The Fey could often be a lazy bunch. Being immortal in all the ways that really count, they seldom had to worry about anything, and that applied nowhere more fully than in their living quarters. Usually, if one of the Fey bothered to spend any significant stretch of time on Earth, she or he (or it … one was never totally sure … for that matter, neither were they) would find a convenient cave, or an abandoned burrow or den or beaver-dam, and just crash. Glamour was merely a reflex, and no matter what its true state, with a thought the Fey could make its home look like an emperor's palace. And most of them did.

This place, though, this hidden castle in this remote boreal forest a few days north and east of Moskva, had very little of glamour about it. The stone was real, as were the gold and the gems and the polished wood, the crystal and the leaded glass. The weapons were real, as were the wards and snares and guardian spirits. The lone inhabitant of this fortress cared not for visitors, nor did she ever allow someone to leave who might stumble upon her hiding place.

She sat now on her granite throne, hands folded neatly across her lap, staring through the wall and across the distance, to see what might be seen. She had been in that position for some weeks, knowing neither hunger nor discomfort, looking only for something new, something to ease the boredom of the infinite years.

The tremor in the aether captured her attention. She sat forward, the first indication of life she had evinced in over two months, and directed her gaze toward the epicenter of the disturbance. This was new. This was different. With an exercise of will, she flung her mind away, following the psychic spoor and finally coming to rest high in the air over what seemed to be a palace made of ice. Intriguing. Her consciousness floated downward until she discovered …

As she sat in her castle, a tiny smile ghosted across her lips. "Well, well, well."

. . .

. . .

His wild, glowing magic flowed up the conduit of her finger, mixing and meshing with the lattice of power within her, offering life and freedom and …

The lacy, delicate, diamond-hard force of her power washed through him, bringing order and stability to the unchecked lust to burn and grow and …

The two of them, paralyzed, lips parted, stared INTO each other as the magical melding swelled to a shattering crescendo. Seconds may have passed, or hours. It didn't matter. Nothing else mattered, only the growing awareness of …

**COMPLETION**

Each of them took on a glow, hers deep blue, his light orange, and the twin lights ramped up until they out-shown the sun there on the balcony. Slowly, or perhaps not, Carlos stood. Each of them took the half-step toward the other that banished any gap between them. Their fingers laced together. Her other hand cupped his cheek. His curled around her waist. With wonder and dread, excitement and delicious fear, and then with growing confidence, she raised herself slightly onto her toes while he bent his head toward her. Their lips met.

Blue and orange swirled together into a blinding white light beyond intense, climbing and focusing into a massy pillar of radiance that speared the zenith. The corona seemed to draw into them briefly, for barely a second, and then …

The detonation reduced the balcony, and a good chunk of that side of the castle, to icy dust.

. . .

. . .


	21. Completion

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 20: Completion**

. . .

. . .

_Wednesday 28 July 1841, 1:05pm_

Anna's head jerked up. "Was that … thunder?"

Kristoff gave her a puzzled look and tried to peer up through the thick, green canopy that currently arched over them. "Huh. I don't know. When we were up the mountain two hours ago the sky was clear to the horizon." He pointed out where the occasional ray of sun filtered through the trees. "Doesn't look cloudy to me. And I never heard of thunder from a clear sky."

Anna turned and stared hard back the way they had come.

Kristoff pulled up on Sven's reins, bringing them to a halt; the reindeer craned his neck back to glare at him in irritation. Kristoff ignored it, placing a hand gently on Anna's shoulder. "You want to go back?"

She held her pose for another quarter-minute before flopping back down in her seat. "No. She's okay."

_Puzzled_ grew into _thoroughly-nonplussed_. "She's okay?"

"Yep."

"And you know this … how?"

"I just do." She waved a hand down the trail. "Go on. Lots to do before the ball."

He gave her a few incredulous blinks, shook his head, and _tschik-tschikked_ Sven back into a trot. The haughty set of the reindeer's withers conveyed what he thought of silly, double-minded humans.

. . .

. . .

_Back at what's left of Elsa's Ice Palace_

Some of the pulverized ice had whiffed into vapor. Some of it had converted to projectiles, riddling the near trees. Some of it coated the ground. But better than a third of it just hung in the air, a sparkling, hazy fog whirling in place. And in the center of that fog, two figures floated … though to any observer, they wouldn't have looked like _two_ figures.

The Melding may have lifted her to the heights that pleasure could reach. It may have been soul-racking agony to rival Hell's pits. Elsa couldn't tell, and couldn't be bothered to care because the intensity was simply all-consuming. Her blood sang as the near-infinite power of their combined magicks moved and ran and flowed around them, burning all else to ash. She could feel everything, but nothing at any specific point. She curved into the contours of Carlos's body, skin on skin everywhere possible since the explosion had disintegrated their clothing, but that was only one aspect of sensation, and not even a major one. It was the twining of their spirits, the marriage of their minds, the overwhelming, exhilarating

**COMPLETION**

_It's funny_, a tiny part of her mind whispered,_ that I never knew I'd been creeping around blind and deaf and crippled all my life._

Carlos could swear his skin was incapable of containing such volumes of joy. It was as if he was swelling, growing in some heretofore unknown dimensions, and with that growth came new knowledge, new vistas, new power.

Oh, the POWER! It vibrated all around him, sharpening his vision, echoing his ecstasy, drawing him on, laughing with him …

And then he did laugh. The force of it shook boulders free for several hundred paces in a wide arc in front of him, and started a small landslide. His exultation mounting, he looked down again at the ethereal being in his arms, her eyes twin windows of liquid light, and kissed her again in giddy glee. _So this is what ultimate happiness tastes like._

Their power pulled magic from the ground, redirected any ley line within two hours' walk, and bound it all in a ferocious cyclone of eldritch energy that threatened to scour the mountainside down to bedrock. Very faintly, Elsa heard something over the tempest:

"Mommy!"

Gasping, she turned away from Carlos, breaking all contact but for one trailing hand. "Marshmallow!"

The ice golem was just barely managing to cling to what was left of the crag where her castle had stood. Had she not already reinforced his form, he would have been reduced to his component crystals. Instantly, the pair shot down to where he was, the perceived peril damping both their magical enthusiasm and the arcane maelstrom. But Elsa didn't let go of his hand.

If Marshmallow had been able to breathe, he would have been panting. As it was, he seemed quite dazed. "Mommy?"

"I'm here, Sweetie!" She and Carlos, apparently taking this new levitation ability completely in stride, floated up in front of his face. "Are you hurt? Are you broken anywhere? Can you –"

"Mommy!" He grabbed them both and held them close against him. "Marshmallow worried! Thought Mommy be hurt!"

"Oh, Sweetie, no, we're fine. Are you fine, too?"

The golem nodded. "Storm was scary." He looked behind him and shook his head. "Castle gone. Marshmallow sorry."

Carlos patted his face. "Don't worry about it, Marshmallow, old boy. Elsa can build another one if she wants to."

That seemed to brighten him up. "Marshmallow help?"

"Absolutely! You can go find us a good place for the new one."

"Marshmallow look! Marshmallow find!" And he ran off to seek a likely spot.

The Snow Queen finally realized two things: they were floating about three man-heights off the ground, and they were totally naked. She blushed to her roots and turned away from Carlos. "Um … uh … Carlos? How did … where … your, um, clothes …"

He looked down at himself, and started in shock. "Whoa."

Elsa quickly fabricated a practical cover-all for herself, trying very hard not to stare at the (Oh My God Now THAT Is What A Man Is Supposed To Look Like!) naked fellow beside her.

"Hey, can you do one for me, too?"

"… But you'll just melt it."

"Not if you make it out of the same stuff as Nic's sword. It's not so cold that my system would react."

She mulled that over for a second, drew a long breath and faced him. A few quick motions with her free hand, and he stood (floated?) in a fine-link chain-mail suit of solidified water that was harder and tougher than any refractory super-alloy.

He grinned at her. "I didn't see that coming."

Huffing hard, she replied, "Neither did I." Then her eyes widened considerably as something else slammed home to her poor, overworked brain. "Wait!"

"What?"

"You love me!"

"… I beg your …"

"Carlos, we were just inside each other's minds. I know everything."

He realized then that he did, too, and shuddered hard as certain of her memories and experiences suddenly bobbed to the top of his mind. "Oh … Oh … Elsa … how could you stand all the … by the saints! … _How_ did you _**bear**_ it?" The sudden flood of loneliness and isolation nearly left him breathless. "So … so alone. And you did it all for love? Elsa!" Tears tracked down his cheeks as he stared in wonder at the woman in his arms. They began to drift down toward the earth.

Tears filled Elsa's eyes as well. "Carlos! Your family! Oh, God, how? … Belinda! Oh, no! And your daughters! My God, the same year? And … and …" She grabbed onto him, her breath catching hard. "How did you even manage to _**live**_?"

They settled to the bare rock. He leaned back, making a lap, and took her up on it. Then they simply held each other in a silence occasionally punctuated by sobs and gasps for almost twenty minutes while the new feelings and experiences and memories got settled and sorted.

Finally she looked up, frowning, and accused, "You were going to leave?" Her lip trembled.

"I was wrong." He stroked her cheek and rested his forehead against hers. "About many things."

Giving him a watery smile, she admitted, "You DO love me."

He nodded without hesitation. "I do. It makes very, very little sense, given that we've known each other all of six days, but yes." He tightened his grip, pulling her in so that her head was cradled against his neck. "I never believed an emotion this strong could exist."

"Neither did I."

A tiny grin sped across his lips. "Does that mean you love me back?"

"Since the very thought of being apart from you causes physical pain and threatens my sanity, I'm gonna have to go with 'Yes' on that one."

"Good. Then we seem to be in agreement."

A rough, cracked voice intruded. "How sickeningly sentimental."

Both Fey-touched jumped to their feet and whipped around to face the newcomer. She stood some ten paces away, a short, thin-but-recognizably-female figure in a long blue cloak. Her stringy, black hair hung in twisted hanks to her waist, and a sneer of utter contempt dominated her pale, pinched face.

Carlos wrapped a protective arm around Elsa, bringing her close to his side. "Who are you?"

Instead of answering, the woman let her gaze shift back and forth between them a few times. "So which one of you is it?"

"Which one is what?" asked Elsa.

"Ice powers. Which one of you controls the winter?"

Elsa raised her chin. "That would be me."

"Ah. And how did you happen to come by them?"

"What business is that of yours?" Carlos wanted to know.

Elsa placed a cautionary hand on his forearm and caught his eyes for a moment. Turning back to the interloper, she said, "I was born with them. As far as I know, it took my parents completely by surprise, so I had no idea how I got them." She glanced up at Carlos. "But I've recently found out that I may have some kind of connection with the Fey."

The other snorted. "Some connection. That's rich."

"I ask again," insisted Carlos, "what is it to you?"

She ignored him, staring hard at Elsa and walking slowly toward them. "Yes. I begin to feel it now."

Elsa frowned. "Feel what?"

"It has been quite some time, I'll give you that. I'd completely forgotten about him."

"… Him, who?"

The being now stood maybe three paces from them. "The power is diluted. Weak. Watered down. And you have a truly frightful tendency toward mercy." She raised a skinny arm. "No matter. I'll have that corrected in –"

Carlos jumped between them, his hands lighting with brilliant yellow flame. "Stay away from her!"

Contemptuously, she flicked a hand, and Carlos went sailing off to the side some twenty paces, hitting the steep ground hard, and rolling. She sneered again, said, "Fire elementals," and turned her gaze back to Elsa … just in time to get hit with a small mountain of jagged, super-hard blocks of ice. She was blown back and back and back, and finally buried under the frigid cairn.

"You Will Not _Touch_ Him!" Elsa hissed.

Carlos had regained his feet, none the worse for wear. His innate toughness combined with the nearly-indestructible clothing saw to that. He trotted back over to Elsa. "Are you okay?"

Nodding once, she answered, "Fine. But who –"

A crackling rumble preceded a fierce blast of light from the pile of ice. The eldritch being pushed aside some of the rubble and sat up, wiping the dark ichor off her cut lip with the back of her hand. "So. Perhaps not _completely_ weak, then."

Elsa took Carlos's hand.

The creature stood, black eyes snapping, a look of menace dominating her face. "So be it. You want to do this the hard way? I have absolutely no problem with that." She spread her arms wide and began a chant.

Gripping her companion's hand hard, Elsa started mumbling under her breath. Carlos could make out some of it, recognizing it as a ward of a sort, but couldn't tell what it was for until a faintly-glowing aura surrounded them. His eyes widened. _I hope this works!_

Their opponent reached some kind of climax in her chant and brought her hands together in a thunderous clap. Instantly, a score of gargantuan lightning bolts stabbed at them from the clear sky … and ricocheted straight over into the eldritch woman, blowing a huge chunk out of the mountain and obscuring the entire area with a storm of superheated dust.

"By the saints! I never saw you do _that_ before!"

"It's a modified form of the ward I placed on Nicolai."

"We would have been fried!"

"I know."

"Do you think it –"

A hideous roar shook the ground, knocking them off their feet. Wild winds swept the slope clean, revealing their tormentor, who had grown to some fifteen man-heights and loomed over them. In a voice like a carload of gravel, she said, "This Ends Now." She glared at them in hate … raised a fist over her head … brought it whistling down on the cringing couple, who clearly saw their impending deaths …

… only to encounter a crystalline wall of rainbow hues. The monstrous fist simply stopped, and the raging being quickly shrank to 'normal' size.

She shook her head … shook it again and looked around blearily, finally focusing on yet another being that had appeared nearby. Carlos could clearly hear her teeth grinding as she spat, "Litania?"

"Hello, Morana." The newcomer was a strikingly handsome woman of _well_ above average height, with skin darker than Carlos's, long, long greenish-tan hair, and eyes that glowed golden.

"Litania! Why in the Nine Hells are you sticking your prissy nose into my business?"

"One might ask you the same thing," she retorted evenly.

Morana lowered a black-clawed finger in Elsa's direction. "She's one of my get. But she ended up with some of my power. I'm taking it back."

"You gave it away. It is not yours to demand."

"You have no right to interfere!"

"No? And how do you come by that conclusion?"

"I …" Morana paused, narrowing her eyes and considering her rival closely. Then she glanced at Carlos for long moments before asking, "Is he one of yours?"

"Would I be here otherwise?"

Her exasperation clear, Morana stomped the ground and yelled, "But why do you even care? The mortal you toyed with is long dead!"

That accusation seemed to pain her. "Morana … my cousin … please. You have not been to Court these last sixteen centuries. But surely you must recall at least _some_ of the Old Law." She drifted over closer to the thin creature. "If you hate the World of Men so deeply, why do you spend so much time here? Why have you built yourself a permanent home, established a domain, and invested the land with your spirit if you never allow anyone to get near you?" A gentle hand came up, made slight contact with one withered shoulder.

Morana blinked and turned away. "You would not understand."

"What would I not understand? Unrequited love? I would present Tamerlain."

Morana flinched.

"What else? Betrayal? What, then, of Messic?"

Hot eyes sought hers. "That's not fair! He betrayed us all!"

"True. But whose daughter died because of it?"

Morana grew very still.

"And he is still paying the price, is he not?"

The scraggly head bowed.

"And do I not understand loneliness? Loss? What, then, of Finnegan Moore?" She moved around in front of the other and carefully lifted her chin. "Do I not understand the mortality of Men?"

Morana's mouth drew to a line. "Whatever you have suffered, I have suffered worse."

Litania held her gaze for several breaths before answering, "That, I do not deny. You have lost much."

"I have nothing left."

She drew the shorter one to her in a light embrace. "Sweet cousin, not all men are Jarilo, and not all deceit is forever."

They held the tableau for long enough that Carlos and Elsa quietly regained their feet and put an arm each around the other. They recognized that they were witnessing something that it was unlikely any other living mortal had witnessed, and the solemnity weighed on them.

Litania finally dropped a long kiss on Morana's head. The shorter being grew radiant, her features filled out, her hair became sleek and fine. "Morana, come back with me."

She looked away. "… I cannot."

"Your domain will be safe. You will see." She ducked her head to catch the other's gaze. "You know Father asks after you."

"Why does he care?"

"You are his niece. You were his favorite. You could be again, were you to let go of the hurt."

"Let it go? Just like that? You make it sound easy."

"It is NOT easy." She gave her head a quick shake. "This I know. But it IS simple."

Morana stared at her cousin until time itself seemed to strain. "I have no –"

"Sshhh." Litania placed a finger on her lips. "Oberon has kept your rooms for you."

Eyes growing round, she gasped, "What?"

Litania nodded. "Berrin wanted to use them for his sons. Oberon forbade it, for he knew you would return. They lie untouched since you left."

"But … but why was I not … Hecate said …"

A clear laugh cut her off. "Hecate? You listened to _anything_ Hecate said? You may as well ask Hel for advice on performing charity!"

A rosy blush colored Morana's now-fair cheeks.

Litania hugged her again. "We did not tell you out of respect for your silence. But I see now that your silence has drained you. And it has gone on long enough. Come back with me. The Festival of Lughnasadh is but four days hence. Your presence would mean so much to Father."

"I …" Morana's indecision was crystal clear. "I have been away so long."

"Aye. Too long."

Morana glanced over at Elsa, frowning.

"Ah-ah! None of that. Holding a grudge is like holding a live coal in your hand. And she was merely protecting her own life. They have little enough of it already, don't you think?" Turning to the pair, Litania raised a hand. "Go in peace, mortals. Use your gifts wisely." She cocked an eye at Morana, twitched a shoulder at Elsa and Carlos.

The shorter Fey chewed on her lip for a minute, then shrugged. "I suppose you can keep it. Apparently not _all_ mercy is folly." Her eyes hardened slightly. "But you must know when to trust and when to strike. It will go hard with you if you lack judgment. Remember that."

Elsa nodded. "I will. Thank you."

She scoffed. "Thank Litania. It was she who saved you alive."

The pair bowed low. "We do thank you."

"Ah, little mortals! Enjoy your love in the brief time you have." She made a swift downward motion with one hand, and the two Fey vanished in a brilliant crack of light.

. . .

. . .


	22. Felicitation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 21: Felicitation**

. . .

. . .

_Wednesday 28 July 1841, 3:45pm_

It was under the watchful but well-hidden eye of Lieutenant Frid Carlsson that Kristoff and Anna made their way the last league and a half back to Arendelle. Captain Fjelstad might have given lip-service to Anna's command not to follow them, but that didn't mean he was going to let the entire remaining Royal Line of Arendelle just gallivant off wherever they wanted completely unsupervised! And they thought to do this only days after a major attempt on the Queen's life? No. In a word: NO. He took his position more seriously than that. So he put Frid on the job, the best man for woodcraft he had in his company.

Anna didn't really care one way or the other. She had accomplished her goal of getting Elsa _The Hell Away_ from the city and the palace and her never-ending duties, and back into her icy element. That the man Anna not-so-secretly hoped would become King Consort was with her as well was the caramel-drizzle-and-dark-chocolate-flake topping on her metaphorical cake. She giggled to herself over the mental image that inspired, then let her mind wander into the uses Kristoff might be able to make of such a combination … then blushed hard and tried to think of other things. For the time being. _Okay, then, two more items for the honeymoon checklist._

Lieutenant Carlsson put away his spyglass and motioned to the rest of the squad, who mounted up and moved out to a rear-guard position some three hundred paces back from the lurching sled. The replacement wheel assembly Kristoff had secreted in the storage box under the sleigh wasn't as large or as durable as the solid-water version Elsa had supplied them with on the way up, so they had to move more slowly and carefully until they got to a decent road. The squad moved along at not much more than an amble.

In a dense copse some eighty or ninety paces east of the road, an even quieter group of half a dozen men waited. One of them had a spyglass, too. He grumbled as he followed the progress of the lurching sleigh, "This is too damn easy."

A somewhat taller, dirtier, and uglier fellow responded, "Easy money don't bother me none."

"What I'm sayin' is, there's gotta be a catch." He panned slowly down the road toward Arendelle. "Damned if I know what, though."

His companion squinted in the afternoon light. "Ought to be movin' into position."

"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, Cain, they ain't goin' no faster'n a walk." He turned his attention to the road behind the sleigh. A few seconds later, his shoulders tensed. "Aaaaaand there's the catch."

"Huh?"

"Troop o' troopers. Looks like … yeah, City Watch, I make it."

"How many?"

"… Eight. An' they've got carbines."

"Shit."

"Yeah." He put away the spyglass. "We lay low for now."

"What do we tell –"

"I'll handle it. Don't worry." He turned a beady eye back to the road. "He'll just hafta be patient. We got a good five more days 'fore they leave. Somebody'll let their guard down in there somewhere." They all watched and waited until the procession had moved beyond sight, then carefully made their way back to an abandoned stable with a recently-repaired door on the outskirts of Arendelle.

. . .

. . .

_4:30pm_

Carlos took a step back. _[[ Okay, try it now. ]]_

A look of intense concentration on her lovely features, the Snow Queen held her arms out and down at a steep angle, trying to reproduce the mental state that had allowed them to fly. Ten seconds passed.

… Twenty.

… Thirty.

_[[ Curse it all! ]]_ she muttered through their mental link. _[[ You'd think I could master something as simple as this! ]]_

_[[ It is a bit surprising. You picked up the healing aura much more easily than I'd thought you would. And you use telepathy as if you'd been born with it. ]]_ He floated over to land in front of her. _[[ I'll bet there's just some simple little switch that we're missing. ]]_

Her frustration came clearly through the link. _[[ I just don't want to have to burden you by – ]]_

_[[Ha! You? A burden? ]]_ He grabbed her around her svelte waist and effortlessly lifted her high, bringing forth a delighted squeal as she kicked up a leg. _[[ The day I consider holding you a BURDEN is the day you might as well BURY me! ]]_

She gripped his forearms, letting their psyches flow together through the physical contact. Instantly the fuzzy connection she'd been struggling with snapped into sharp focus_. [[ See?! There it is, right there! ]]_ With the slightest exercise of will, she threw them aloft.

He pulled her close, gazing raptly into her face while she exhilarated in the rush of the wind. The ground fell away as they climbed, the frigid air bothering neither of them at all.

_[[ Is it, maybe, ]]_ he asked, _[[ the slightest bit selfish of me to want for you to hold me like this when we fly?]]_

Her smile put the dawn to shame. She could feel quite clearly his longing, his satisfaction, his ecstasy at having her in his arms. Snuggling in as they floated, high above the peak of the North Mountain, she answered, _[[ If so, you can call me selfish, too. There is nothing on this planet that feels better. ]]_

He knew she meant 'better than the intimate mental contact' because he felt the same way. They simply held each other for a while, marveling in the psychic melding and enjoying the view from their dizzying height.

At length he leaned back slightly to catch her eye. _[[ I'd like to try something, if you're up for it. ]]_

_[[ Anything! ]]_

A few of the images that rolled quickly through his mind via the link earned her a light blush and a cheeky grin. _[[ Not 'til after we're married, you vixen! I may be cheap, but I'm not easy. ]]_

_[[ Party pooper. ]]_ But she shivered in delighted response to some of HIS thoughts. He did, after all, have a couple of centuries of experience under his belt, and it was with some relish that she anticipated learning from him_. [[ I wonder if House Arendahl could overcome the scandal if we eloped. I think that would delight Anna. ]]_

_[[ Oh, I disagree. She'd want you to have to go through the same rigmarole that she and Kristoff are putting up with. ]]_

_[[ Eh. You may be right. ]]_

_[[ And you wouldn't want to deprive the populace of the spectacle of another royal wedding, would you? ]]_

_[[ Now that you mention it, they'd probably never forgive me. It would be torches and pitchforks galore until we agreed to host a gala. ]]_

The marriage in question had been discussed and decided shortly after the departure of the two Fey a few hours earlier. Carlos and Elsa were both practical people, and they knew beyond doubt, knew it the same way they knew the sun would rise in the East, that they loved each other totally. His asking and her accepting were the events of but a moment, once they realized that there were truly no other reasonable alternatives for either of them. It was fortunate that he was a member of the Spanish peerage. While a simple majority didn't care one way or another, the staunch traditionalists among Arendelle's citizenry were already looking askance at Anna's marriage to a commoner. Carlos, on the other hand, held quite a suitable title. The fact that his personal fortune amounted to a few TIMES that of the Arendelle royal treasury wouldn't hurt anything, either, and Elsa knew that would thrill several of her Councilors nearly to death. She anticipated no difficulties from that quarter.

Pulling the conversation back on topic, she asked, _[[ What did you want to try? ]]_

_[[ When our magicks first combined, there was an explosion. ]]_

_[[ And how! ]]_

He laughed at the various thoughts that ran to him through their link._ [[ I meant the actual, physical, concussive explosion that destroyed your palace, you kinky little minx. ]]_

_[[ Pssht. That old thing? ]]_

_[[ Yes, yes, I know, your replacement is much grander … ]]_

_[[ And sturdier! ]]_

_[[ Oh, yeah. ]]_

_[[ And prettier! ]]_

_[[ … um … ]]_

_[[ And Marshmallow says it's better! ]]_

_[[ … You're in a mood. ]]_

She hugged him more tightly. _[[ I'm happy. I'm free. I've got full control of my ice powers, and I'm learning more about what I can do – what WE can do – practically by the hour. I'm with the man I love, and I know he loves me back. And WE are FLIPPIN' __**FLYING!**__ ]]_ Leaning back just far enough to face him, she continued, _[[ Do you blame me for being maybe just a little bit giddy? ]]_

His grin showed most of his teeth._ [[ Not at all, my darling. ]]_

_[[ Well, then. ]]_

He kissed her again. And again. And a few more times when she didn't seem inclined to stop. But finally he got a chance to explain,_ [[ Okay, here's the thing. When I cut loose with my flame, I can cast it a LONG way. I'm curious to try the same thing with our combined power. ]]_

_[[ My word. ]]_ She chewed her lip briefly._ [[ Would that even be safe? ]]_

_[[ If I aim it at the bare rock of the mountain, I don't see what harm it could do. ]]_

_[[ Hmm. Tell you what. Let's try it on one of those other mountains. I don't want to have to construct my palace a third time. It would hurt poor Marshmallow's feelings, I fear. ]]_

_[[ Good idea. ]]_

They flew about half a league, into completely uninhabited territory, and chose a barren crag for the test. Elsa wanted to know_, [[ Can you recall accurately what that power felt like? ]]_

_[[ I believe so. ]]_ He held one arm aloft, pointed a finger straight up, and concentrated. A golden nimbus surrounded his hand, then flowed upward in the direction he pointed. The semi-solid beam of light that speared the blue sky briefly outshone the sun as the air in its near vicinity was fried down to subatomic particles.

_[[ Whoa. I guess you DO remember! ]]_ She could feel what he felt, how the use of that power gave him an almost dizzy surge of release. _[[ Let me try! ]]_

Her effort, however, was decidedly different. The light was blue, and dimmer, and shortly they were surrounded by a thick flurry of snowflakes. She blew a few out of her face and huffed, _[[ Well THAT's disappointing. ]]_

_[[ We don't utilize the same portions of the Fey gifts, apparently. ]]_

_[[ Oh, you think? ]] _A flick of one hand dispelled the mini-storm. _[[ Well … poop. ]]_

He chuckled at her. _[[ I'm going to have to teach you how to curse properly one of these days. ]]_

_[[ I know how. I just refrain. It isn't Queenly. ]]_

_[[ If you say so. ]]_

_[[ I do. Okay, let's see what that … thing you do does to a mountain. ]]_

Pointing down at the crag far below and calling up the force again, he shot a blast at the rock.

It's a good thing they'd stationed themselves as far away as they had. The beam of what they'd thought of as light pulverized and superheated the sturdy outcropping of gneiss, instantly converting a long, cylindrical segment of it to a plasma of nearly solar intensity. It exploded from the hole he'd made in a white-hot fountain. They yelped and zipped off to the side, the flare missing them by an uncomfortably close margin.

_[[ What did you DO?! ]]_

_[[ … um … ]]_

_[[ Oh, my. Carlos, look! ]]_

Lava was pouring from the hole, running down the side of the mountain and pooling in clefts and crevasses.

_[[ It appears I don't know my own strength. ]]_

Elsa guided them lower, then encased the hole and the area around it in ice.

The lava broke through.

_[[ Carlos … just how flippin' deep does that hole go? ]]_

_[[ How would I know? I've never done this before! ]]_

She froze it again. It broke free again. She repeated the process twice more, then in frustration she froze the entire mountain solid. They heard a few hopeful gurgles from deep inside, but the plug held.

_[[ Okay. ]] _She glanced up at Carlos._ [[ Let's not do that again. ]]_

_[[ Too right! I don't want to be birthing volcanoes all over the place. ]]_

_[[ You'd said before that your flame could get hot enough to fuse sand into glass. This … thing we can generate … seems to be a lot hotter than that. ]]_

_[[ Yeah. By a factor of about a hundred. ]]_

She gave him a look_. [[ You can measure it? ]]_

_[[ Well … not as such. But I know how long I need to concentrate my flame on an area to get it to melt. And this was just one shot, and it bored a hole all the way down to magma in less than a second. ]] _He shook his head with a wry grin. _[[ Maybe more like a factor of a thousand. I'm not sure. But it beats all I've ever seen. ]]_

_[[ Me, too. ]] _No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Elsa's stomach gurgled noticeably.

Carlos smirked at her and asked, _[[ You ready for tea? ]]_

_[[ Apparently. ]]_

He turned and oriented on the glint of her new ice palace in the distance. _[[ Let's see how quickly we can get there. ]]_

Her answering grin was all the permission he needed. They covered what would have been a brisk hour's walk in much less than a minute.

. . .

. . .

_5:15pm_

As soon as Kristoff pulled Sven up in front of the stables, Anna was off the sled and striding purposefully toward the castle. He didn't worry about losing sight of her; he knew exactly where she was going. For the last two hours she hadn't stopped complaining about their lack of foresight in leaving ALL the food with Elsa and Carlos. He'd find her in the kitchen when he got Sven settled. The poor reindeer, strong as he was, got pretty much exhausted on the last leg of the trip. (Hey, YOU try pulling a sled for almost ten hours and see how YOU feel!)

He led Sven to the watering trough, then called a stable boy over and sent him after a currycomb. While Sven was slaking his thirst, Kristoff retrieved a bag of carrots from a small storeroom and hung it up in Sven's stall. Then he got a large towel, wet it in the trough, and began rubbing down the reindeer's withers. He started whistling a random tune, then a smile pricked his lips. In a sing-song voice, he began a mock conversation in musical verse with his old friend:

"Sorry about the long, hard day, but carrots will have to be your pay."

"_Next time __you__ can pull the sled, and __I'll__ ride in that comfy bed."_

"Sorry, buddy, no can do. Anna wants to cuddle with me, not you."

"_Oh, no, I wouldn't be so sure. A reindeer's love, you know, is pure."_

"How could you, bro? That's really low. Your heart freeze stiff in all that snow?"

"_If you but knew, how long …"_

The stable boy trotted up at that point, interrupting the ersatz banter. "Gotcher currycomb, Mr. Bjorgman!"

Kristoff took the heavy brush and gave the kid a cross look. "Thad, if you can call the Princess 'Anna', you can call me 'Kristoff'."

"… Oh. Uh … I dunno …"

"There a problem?"

"… It don't sound 'spectful."

He had to scoff at that. "So you're saying that 'Kristoff' is too familiar for me, a commoner … but 'Anna' is perfectly fine for royalty? Seriously?"

The lad scrubbed a toe in the dirt and mumbled, apologetically, "It's different with her."

The mountain man had to grin at that. If one word had to be chosen to describe his intended, it would probably be 'different'. "I'll give you that one, Thad. But please, it's just 'Kristoff'. Okay?"

"Yessir."

_*sigh*_

The boy brightened. "Can I curry Sven? And give him a carrot?"

"Can you curry Sven …" Kristoff placed a hand to his ear and leaned closer.

"Can I curry him … please?"

"Please, what?"

That got him nothing but confused blinks for a few seconds before the freckled face split in a gap-toothed grin. "Can I curry him, please, Kristoff?"

The Royal Ice Master and Deliverer presented the brush to the youngster. "Here you go. And get all of his legs this time."

"I only missed one that one time!" Thad reached for the brush.

But as Kristoff glanced at it, his brows drew together. "Good grief. This thing's filthy!"

"Yeah, that new guy ain't real good at cleanin' stuff."

"New guy?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know we had a new guy."

"Yeah. Eric just stopped showin' up for work. Ain't seen him since Monday. This ol' bald, one-eyed cripple was hangin' around, beggin' scraps, askin' for some kinda job, Master Ole took pity on 'im I reckon. Gave him a chore muckin' the stables an' cleanin' whatever came to hand needed cleanin'. Let him sleep in the south tack room, an' fed him supper last night."

Kristoff had only been following most of that with half an ear, and finally made a connection. "Eric Olafsson?"

"Yep."

"Huh. That … doesn't sound like Eric. Is he sick?"

Thad just shrugged.

"Huh." Kristoff pondered that. Eric was a steady hand and sharp. The horses all behaved for him. He'd never just disappeared before. "I think I'll wander over to his place and see if he's okay."

Thad didn't answer, having begun to work the bits of dirt and dried sweat out of Sven's hair.

It wasn't even a four-minute walk. Eric's family had a tidy house just one block away from the curtain wall, tucked into a row of similar dwellings. Kristoff knocked on the door.

It was quickly jerked open, accompanied by a voice calling, "Eric?" But the round-faced, auburn-haired girl who popped out (Eric's sister? Or was it a cousin?) caught sight of Kristoff and scowled. Drawing a frustrated breath, she said, "Yes, Master Bjorgman?"

"Well … I guess if you're looking for Eric to show up, he must not be here, right?"

"Nothin' gets by you."

"Um … when was the last time you …"

"Three days. He just walks off to work and vanishes without a trace! Mama's losing her mind."

"Oh. He's your … um, you're his sister?"

"Yes, unfortunate sister to a big, useless, thoughtless oaf."

"He's not useless! He's a wonder with the horses, and …"

"He could've been a clock-maker! Like Papa! But he's so damn stubborn …"

A querulous voice called from inside, "Is that Eric? Is that my boy?"

"No, Mama, it's the Ice Master."

"Did he find Eric?"

"No, Mama, he's lookin' for him, too."

Kristoff backed away. "I'm sorry I bothered you. I'll speak to the Watch."

"You do that." And the door slammed shut.

_Pleasant bunch_, he thought, trudging back to the stable. _How'd a sour family like that produce Eric?_

When he came around the corner and popped into the wide doors, Thad was just starting on Sven's haunches. The reindeer was munching on his second carrot. Kristoff scratched the animal between his eyes, eliciting a pleased snort in return. "So, Thad …"

"Yessir?"

"This 'new guy' … he got a name?"

"The crippled guy?"

"Yeah."

"Jan."

"Jan what?"

"Just Jan, far as I know."

"Was he around before Eric went missing?"

"Missing?" Thad stopped and gave Kristoff a look. "He ain't at home?"

"Nope. They haven't seen him, either."

"Wal, don't that beat all."

"Yeah. Kinda what I thought."

"Jan's around somewhere. He mucked stables this mornin'." Giving the currycomb a hard look, he continued, "Don't know shit about washin' stuff, though." He applied it to the reindeer. "But, yeah, I think he was hangin' around 'fore Eric went missin'."

"Thanks." Kristoff tossed the boy a copper coin and headed up to the palace.

Anna was nowhere to be seen when he got to the kitchen, but evidence of her meal was spread around in plenty. The Ice Master helped himself to a chunk of goose breast and a bigger chunk of crusty bread, slathered both in a spicy fish sauce, and washed it all down with three small beers. One of the sculleries came through as he was finishing up and asked, "Is the Princess done with her, ah, snack?"

Kristoff had to laugh at the girl's expression. "For the time being, probably. It'd been a long time since lunch."

"So it's safe to clean up now?"

"Sure. I'll keep her, um … occupied." He grinned and gave her a wink. "Don't worry."

The girl blushed furiously and began to stutter. Kristoff just walked away, chuckling.

When he got to Anna's room, he found her curled up on her bed with a book, and several more scattered around her. Taking an arms-akimbo stance, he cocked his head and stated, "You said there was a ton of stuff to do to get ready for the ball. That's what all the rush to get back was for."

She waved a careless hand. "Gerda took care of it."

"… What? All of it?"

"All of it. The food's either ready or on the way to being ready. She had Gillian – you know Gillian, the lady who –"

"Yes, Gillian, I know who you mean. Does the fancy draperies?"

"Yeah, her. Gerda got her to do the decorating. She's having a blast. And the string quartet's already set up. And the floor's been waxed. And the windows were all washed this morning."

"Huh. They really DID do a good job without us."

"We have good people."

"True." He indicated the book on her lap. "That gonna help you pick out a dress?"

"Ha. Very ha. No, this is a genealogy."

"… Beg pardon?"

"Who begat whom and when and why and so on."

"… Okay." He looked a little lost. "Why are you –"

"I spent some of yesterday poking through the library and found these books. Carlos said Elsa's the seventh in a line of daughters born after a Fey took a human lover, right?"

"Uh … something like that, yeah. So?"

"So I was curious as to who it was." Pointing out one of the other books on the bed, she explained, "We had five generations set down in the most recent one. I already knew most of that anyway." She wrinkled her nose. "My tutors made me learn it."

"Poor kid."

"Not all of us are lucky enough to be raised by trolls." She tapped the book open across her knees. "Anyway, after five 'greats' back, it got tricky. The line meandered off onto the Continent. But I got a reference from one book that led me to another, and that one led me here." She looked at the page and sighed. "It's not much help, though."

"Dead end?"

"Not exactly. But it just says that Aleksandra – that's number six back – says that her mother came from 'the East'. Doesn't say how far or who her family was or anything."

Kristoff came around beside her and looked at the book. His eyes widened at the Cyrillic characters scrawled across the page. "You can read that?"

"Russian? Yeah. Tutors. Mandatory. I can read it a lot better than I speak it. I think Elsa's fluent, though. Anyway, all I've got is a name. Nothing else."

"Well wouldn't that make sense if she's a Fey?"

"… Huh. Yeah, I guess it would."

"So what's her name?"

"Well, that's the thing, see? She's mentioned several times and sometimes it says 'Marana' and sometimes 'Morena' and sometimes 'Morana'."

"Couldn't make up their minds?"

"Guess not." She sighed and closed the book. "If I remember, once we fetch 'em back, I'll show this to Elsa. She might be interested."

"She might at that."

Anna hopped off the bed and gathered the books, making an untidy stack on her dresser. Then she turned to Kristoff and said, "The ball starts at eight."

"… Okay? So?"

"So it's almost six now."

"So we've got two hours to get ready."

"Do you need two hours?"

"Um … no."

"Me, neither."

A slow grin crawled across his face.

Anna walked up to him and ran her hands over his chest. "If I've got to put up with all that stuffy nobility, I'm gonna need a good, strong dose of sanity first."

"That makes all kinds of sense."

"So you'll help me?"

"You have to ask?"

Kristoff happily gave her as much sanity as she could take for most of the next hour.

. . .

. . .

_End Note: Well, THAT was a short courtship. I tried to talk Elsa out of it, but she threatened to freeze my ... um ... never mind. Anyway, she got what she wanted. Pretty much. We'll have to see if that keeps up, once they get back to Arendelle, eh?_


	23. Trepidation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: Once again I apologize for the lengthy pause between chapter postings. There are a few reasons for this. My new position at work is new to me in a LOT of ways, and the learning curve hasn't gotten any better recently. I had to travel out of town for a week. The Home Front has been a tooth-cracking exercise in frustration for over a month. (Unless you have, personally, been responsible 24/7 for an adolescent with multiple personality disorders - much less two of them - you REALLY cannot possibly have a freaking clue what it's like.) And I've been working on multiple chapters at the same time. Continuity is a bitch, and I have to make sure that certain references are in place, certain facts nailed down. But that also means it won't be very long until the next chapter posts. I hope._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 22: Trepidation**

. . .

. . .

_Wednesday 28 July 1841, 8:30pm_

At this time of year, despite the evening hour, the sun's light still flooded Arendelle, and so the group of men sneaking into the dilapidated shell of a stable had to skulk about inconspicuously. Fortunately for their continued anonymity, most of them had long practice at skulking; also, the bulk of the law-enforcement contingent of Arendelle was occupied supplying security for the ball that had begun half an hour earlier at the palace. No one was about to see them.

They gathered in the large central area, facing the back of the building and the small door that led to an old storage room. Less than a minute went by before that door opened and a stooped, bent man stepped out. His bald head wrinkling, he glared about him with one green eye and growled, "Well? Where is she?"

They glanced at each other warily before their leader said, "She had a guard detail. We couldn't get to her."

He ground his teeth audibly. "You fucking cowards."

"Hey!" answered one of the others. "Screw you! There was eight of 'em, an' they had carbines! I didn't sign up for no suicide run!"

The bald man went on as if he hadn't spoken. "The next time you get close to her, you take her. I don't care if the whole fucking Royal Marine Corps is guarding her. Pick 'em off and take her." A wicked sword point suddenly stood a finger's width from the other man's nose. "Got it?"

He swallowed, not without difficulty, and gave a very abbreviated nod. "Yeah. I got it." The tip of the sword glistened with some oily, brown substance that captured his complete attention.

"Get out of my sight."

They shuffled off out the door, furtively, one at a time.

When they were gone, Hans stood straight, cracked his back, and moved his eye-patch to the side, checking the condition of his scalp in passing and deciding it would need shaving again that night. Muttering, "Assholes," he went back into the small room and continued his exploration of the various poisons the assassins had left behind.

. . .

. . .

_9:30pm_

Anna peeked around a bushy corner in the small hedge maze, caught sight of a dejected figure sitting on a stone bench, and sighed in frustration. "Kristoff. Why aren't you at the ball?"

The man in question raised his face from where it rested in his hands and stared levelly at the love of his life. "Because I don't belong there."

"Bullshit."

"Anna …" He ran his hands through his hair a few times. "Anna, three British peers tried to pull me into a debate about the relative benefits of polo versus tennis as it applies to the training of troops for national defense." He spread his arms. "What the hell was I supposed to do? I could tell they were jerking me around, trying to goad me into … aw, Hell, I don't know! I didn't even know what tennis _**was**_, and I only had a somewhat idea of how polo is played because I overheard one of 'em talking about horses and paid attention!" He stood and moved away. "And they spoke Norwegian better than I do, and I can barely understand ten words of English. And they all speak French. And Latin. And two of 'em know Greek! GREEK, by Thor's beard! Who speaks Greek? I never even HEARD of fuckin' Greek!" He blew a disgusted sigh. "They've all had university educations, they've all traveled damn near everywhere, and seen everything, and know all about … and … yeah." He hung his head and sighed. "I don't belong in there. Nothing _**about**_ me belongs in there."

Biting her lip in sympathy, the slight girl walked quietly up behind him and laid a cautious hand on one arm. He didn't react. "Kristoff … I know this is tough on you. It's, um, not really in your comfort zone …"

He snorted. Hard.

"Okay, so trading tennis stories with a bunch of stuffed shirts isn't your thing. It's not like it's in your job description."

"Oh, really?" He spun around to face her. "Then what is? What IS my job? I'm an ice merchant, Anna! I don't know _**shit**_ about running a country! I still can't figure out why you even keep me around when you could have any man in that …"

Her strong slap knocked his head to the side and stopped his tirade. In shock, he touched the stinging skin of his cheek and gaped at her.

"I don't WANT 'any man in that room'! I wouldn't have 'em in boxed sets of a dozen!" She poked his chest. "I want you! YOU, Kristoff Bjorgman, are the only man who is true enough, and real enough, and strong enough, and honest enough, and … and …" She launched herself at him and gripped him in a tight hug. "I can't STAND it when you put yourself down! You have more integrity and good sense in your _**thumb**_ than all those jerks in there put together!" Grabbing his head and pulling it down, she kissed him roughly. He got over his shock pretty quickly and kissed her right back. This pleasant activity occupied them for a couple of minutes, ending up with Kristoff sitting back on the bench with Anna on his lap.

She nestled her head up under his chin. "Kristoff … you're smart. Maybe you don't have a university degree. Big deal. You have what counts." A few wiggles and a quick grab trapped his forearm against her chest. "Do you think Elsa put you in charge of all of Arendelle's ice export contracts as some kind of favor to me? Don't be ridiculous. You're the best man for the job."

"… Well. Okay. … But that's just ice."

"It's 'just' a little over fifteen percent of Arendelle's trade! And it's OVER fifteen percent instead of UNDER ten percent the way it was three years ago because you're a good negotiator." She snuggled in again. "You've got talents that are actually useful. How often do you think one of those jerks in there does anything of any real benefit to his country?"

"Well, I don't …"

"Hey!" She sat up and swiveled and twisted until she was facing him. "I just thought of something. You know Malia, that dark-haired girl on the downstairs cleaning crew?" She made hand motions in front of her chest. "She's got this really impressive bosom, and green eyes?"

He nodded warily, not sure where she was going with that question. "They're kinda hard to miss."

"The eyes or the bosom?"

"Now you're just picking on me."

"Maybe a little."

"So what about Malia?"

"She's been getting cozy with Earl Corncob's valet. He tells her all KINDS of things –"

"Corncob?"

"Um … Cornbread? … Corntree?"

"You mean Cornwall?"

"Mmmmmnnnyyyeah. It might be Cornwall. Kinda short and … square?"

"Right. Him. Go on."

"Well, the Earl spends all his time gambling or whoring, and stays drunk for both. His father was the same way, and it looks like his son is gonna turn out no different." She poked his chest. "He's rich as Croesus, but a total loser. Do you actually think I'd want to MARRY someone like that? Have you been paying attention at ALL?"

"Okay, okay! I get the picture." He glanced back toward the palace. "And I guess you're right. About some of it."

"All of it."

"So you say. But what am I supposed to do when I get ambushed like that? I mean, really! They treat me like an uncouth … what was that word Elsa used? Professional … no … pro … pro … Provencial! Yeah. Like a bumpkin. They all look down their skinny, unbroken noses at me, like I'm the entertainment. The village idiot."

"And yet your skill as a merchant has filled the coffers with kroner." She grinned at him. "Sounds to me like they're just jealous."

"Maybe not, maybe so. That still doesn't answer my question."

She offered him a shrug. "Change the topic."

"… Change the topic?"

"Just start talking about something else, something you DO know things about. You can totally do that."

"What do you mean?"

"You did it to ME all the TIME when we first met! If you got uncomfortable with what I was talking about, you didn't have any trouble at all just latching a hook into the conversation and yanking it around to where it suited you."

He turned the idea over a few times, looked at it from several directions, and gave her a bemused look. "You know, that just might work."

"Duh."

"I'm marrying a genius."

"Whatever. Let's get back inside. Gerda said something about a chocolate fountain and fresh strawberries, and I am NOT gonna miss THAT."

. . .

. . .

_10:00pm_

Hovering above her 'new and improved' replacement ice palace, Elsa faced them west and sent, _[[ I've always loved the sunset. Even as a child, I would sneak out of my room sometimes and climb to the top of one of the towers, just so I could catch a glimpse of that great, red ball touching down in the ocean. ]]_

_[[ The mountains weren't in the way? ]]_

_[[ Only during the colder months. This time of year, you can see it at the end of the fjord. ]]_ She pointed upward, where a scattering of cirrocumulus clouds painted bright coral spots on the deep blue of the evening sky. _[[ But THAT is what I really enjoyed. So many colors! ]]_

Carlos held her close, basking in the reflected memories and letting her current joy wash him clean. He buried his face in her hair, drinking in her scent like the finest of wines. _[[ Every minute … every second I am with you, I love you more. ]]_

The brilliant sunset colors reflected in the eyes she turned his way. _[[ And I can tell you without the faintest hint of doubt that I NEVER thought I would love anyone the way I love you. My best hope had been that someone – someone the Council would approve, and with whom I could eventually become friends – would sue for my hand, and that he wouldn't be mortally intimidated by my powers. ]]_ She pulled him in even tighter. _[[ You, my sweet man, are a miracle. ]]_

_[[ Historically, miracles in my life have been in short supply. But now I think they were only being saved up so they could all come about through you. ]]_

She gave a contented sort of purring sound and leaned her head more tightly against his chest. Then her stomach growled, breaking the mood. Carlos chuckled deep in his chest. _[[ It's a pity so much of the food was ruined. ]]_

_[[ Don't remind me. All that perfectly good wine, wasted. ]] _She teethed her lip briefly and floated them a bit higher before pointing down and to the south. _[[ It won't take us long to get back to the castle. There's always something worth nibbling in the kitchens, even this late. ]]_

_[[ Is that the voice of experience? ]]_

_[[ And then some. You should let Anna tell the stories, though. She's a much more entertaining bard than I am. ]]_

He bowed to her as much as was feasible while holding her in his arms. _[[ After you, My Queen. ]]_

. . .

. . .

A hollow thump reverberated down the narrow hall as Anna's back hit the rear door to the secondary servants' kitchen. She didn't care, or even really feel it since she was much too occupied with sucking on her soon-to-be husband's tongue. They had escaped the ball half an hour early, their continual flirting with each other having finally gotten the best of their libidos.

Kristoff glanced up and down the narrow corridor, pulled back a finger-width, and breathed, "Are you sure …"

"**Yes**, I'm sure. There won't be a soul here. They've all been assigned work in the main kitchens, as if the great big monstrous piles of food in the Great Hall weren't enough of a clue."

Still, his grin was tentative. "You're a daring little thing."

"If you haven't figured that out by now …"

"Oh, that's not the issue. It's just that you're so … creative about it."

She pulled on his lapel while working the door handle. "Why don't we go inside so you can show me how creative YOU can be."

"I like how you think."

They stumbled into the softly-lit space, the only illumination coming from a low fire in the hearth and one three-stick candelabra on a far sideboard. With little preamble, Kristoff set his fiancée on the gleaming surface of a copper-clad work table, flipped her skirts up, set her ankles on his shoulders, and bent down. Grinning at her, he said, "Time for a snack!" and buried his face in her core. She leaned back against the wall with a long, ululating moan and clutched his hair tightly.

"If you wanted a snack," observed Carlos from across the room, "we've got plenty. All you had to do was ask."

Anna shrieked and flopped sideways. Kristoff gasped heavily, aspirating a bit of Anna's juices and falling into a coughing fit that lasted nearly a quarter of a minute. With a glare of ultimate indignity at her sister and the _hidalgo_, Anna yelled, "This is insane! What do I have to do to get some fucking PRIVACY around here?"

"Welllllll …" Elsa drawled, her amusement plain, "call me crazy, but you might want to try attacking each other in your rooms. It's just a guess, but I'd say there's less traffic there than in the kitchen."

"And YOU'RE supposed to be up at your ice palace! What the Hell!?"

"We, ah, had a bit of excitement," Elsa admitted. "In the rush, the food got spoiled, and we got hungry, so we came back."

That caught Anna's attention, dragging it away from her current sexual-frustration issues. She hopped off the table, smoothing her skirts. "Spoiled? How'd the food get spoiled? It was fresh! And packed just right, and …"

"There was, um, maybe a teensy little accident, and, uh, the ice palace sort of got … destroyed. A little."

Anna gaped at her sister for several breaths. "Destroyed."

"… Yyyyeah."

"Your ice palace? That incredible monument you built in one night? That 'prettiest thing on the planet' as Carlos put it? _**That**_ ice palace?"

Elsa nodded. "Yeah, it sort of got … toasted."

The Princess's gaze slid over to Carlos and her eyes narrowed. "YOU! You … how do you BURN DOWN a palace made of FROZEN WATER?"

"It wasn't just me." He glanced at Elsa and grinned. "It was a joint effort. And besides, she replaced it."

Kristoff had fully regained his senses by then. He wiped his mouth on the back of his forearm and asked, "Replaced it with what?"

Elsa rolled her eyes. "An apple orchard."

"… I don't believe you."

"Another ice palace, you goof!"

"Wait." Anna held up a hand. "Wait. You destroyed the first palace and then built a second one?"

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"Do I dare ask for what reason this happened?"

"Hey, destroying it was completely unintentional. It just …" Her eyes sought Carlos. "… well, it was a side effect."

Anna rubbed her temples. "Wait. This is a lot to take in. You demolished the ice palace … why, again?"

Carlos glanced at Elsa. She shrugged and waved a hand toward Anna. "Be my guest. I don't think I could explain it better than you can."

"Okay, then." He drummed his fingers on the table for a second and then stood. "Well, the short version is … hey!" A light seemed to come on. "Anna, do you recall when you had Elsa launch a snowball into my fire?"

"Yeah. There was this …" Her eyes got big. "Wait a minute."

"Yes. What happened earlier today was that we, ah … well, we touched."

Suddenly, Anna was grinning like an idiot. She actually LOOKED at the two of them, noted their altered clothing, and said, "So you finally admitted how you feel about each other, am I right?"

Bashful grins from the two Fey-touched gave her all the answer she needed. She practically sprinted across the room and leaped onto Elsa, giving her a bone-bending hug. "I am SO HAPPY for you! You've got no idea what this means to me! I've been waiting and waiting for somebody to come along and nobody ever did and you were so damn busy just being Queen and not taking any time for yourself and I just KNEW you were gonna burn out or something and …" She stopped dead and pulled back, her grin getting even wider. Glancing behind her, she noted that Kristoff had walked over to Carlos and was shaking his hand and clapping him on the back. She whipped back around to face her sister and asked, _sotto voce_, "It musta been some hella good sex if you burned down your palace! What's he like? Is he kinky? I'll bet he's picked up some awesome tricks in two hundred years! Oh, Elsa, you gotta share!"

Elsa was dead sure she had never blushed so hard before in her life. "Anna!"

"Oh, okay, I know, this isn't the place or time, so you don't have to tell me now, but I want ALL the juicy details later." She poked a finger at Elsa's nose. "You aren't wiggling out of this one!"

"Anna," hissed her sister, eyes darting between the redhead and Carlos, "we didn't have sex!"

"… Seriously?"

"Of course not!"

"No-no-no-no-no. There is no 'of course not'." Giving Elsa a look of complete incredulity, she added, "And why not?"

An exaggerated roll of her eyes accompanied Elsa's rejoinder. "Oh, I don't know, Sis, maybe because we've known each other all of six days? And maybe because the Queen has a few more strictures on her behavior than the Princess does?"

"And maybe," added Anna with a slight dimple, "because you're terrified?"

"Um … well, no."

"No? I don't believe you. I was terrified the first time. Every girl is."

Elsa chewed her lip for a moment, took Anna's hand, and walked her over to Carlos, whose information for Kristoff seemed to have left the mountain man dumbstruck. She placed Anna beside Kristoff, laced her fingers with Carlos's, and stepped the two of them back a couple paces. "We hadn't touched before today."

"Yeah, you said that before. I didn't know whether or not to believe you."

"Believe it. Well, after you left – and by the way, I LOVED your note – we went up to the palace and got into the aqvavit."

"That was some good stuff, wasn't it?"

Carlos agreed. "A very striking flavor combination."

"Anyway," continued Elsa, "Carlos was trying to show me some telepathy tricks, and …"

Anna interrupted, "What's that?"

Clearing his throat, Carlos replied, "Mind-to-mind communication."

Kristoff and Anna just blinked at him for a moment. Finally he said, "Is that even a thing?"

_[[ Indubitably. And the Queen is a natural master at it. ]]_

The other two both gasped, wide-eyed, Anna sputtering, "Holy shit!"

"Wait just a second!" Kristoff had both hands firmly clamped to the top of his head. "You were showing her how? Could you already do that?"

Carlos nodded. "Hamaraja taught me."

Anna gave him a very puzzled look. "Why didn't you ever say anything about it?"

"In the first place, it just never came up. There were more important things to do. Besides which, we haven't really had all that much time together to just talk." He canted his gaze sideways at Elsa, smiling. "And when we did, I really just wanted to talk to your sister."

"Yeah, okay."

Elsa met her eyes. _[[ Anyway, Carlos was going to show me how to construct a psychic shield, but it turned out I already had one. So then he … um, realized something … ]]_ A bit of color tinged her cheeks. _[[ He swore fealty to me and requested citizenship. ]]_

"Oh, cool! And that's when you touched?"

_[[ Yes. And the results were … rather spectacular. ]]_

"So there was another explosion like that first time, only bigger?"

The Fey-touched nodded. Then they looked at each other, silent for a few seconds.

"Hey, hey, no private conversations! That's just rude."

"My apologies, Your Highness," said Carlos. "We were simply wondering how much detail to go into."

Anna's grin pulled her ears back. "I want 'em all!"

"Right now?"

"… Eh. No, I guess not. But tomorrow for sure!" She took Kristoff's arm and looked up at him. "We'll be up for a while most likely, but you're probably pretty tired." Then she frowned and stared at Elsa. "Hey, how DID you get back here, anyway?"

She turned to Carlos with half a smirk. The two of them rose smoothly into the air about a forearm-length. "We also discovered that we can fly."

Anna stumbled back, missing a fall on her rump only because Kristoff caught her. "Buh … beh … zaaah?"

The _hidalgo_ shrugged. "Apparently when our two facets of power combine, the whole is greater than the sum of the parts."

Elsa agreed. "A lot greater." She launched herself into the air and came down on one foot, on top of Carlos's head. "Look, Anna, we'll talk some more tomorrow, but as you pointed out, we're tired, and you two have some canoodling to catch up on. Ta-ta!"

_[[ Canoodling? Is that what they call it now? ]]_

Elsa's mental reply was muffled and then faded out. Carlos listened for a few seconds, then gave a hearty laugh and strode out the kitchen's main entrance.

Anna just watched, dumbfounded, as the couple exited the room with Elsa nimbly perched on the top of Carlos's head, balanced on one foot, her arms spread like wings. When they moved out of sight, she blinked a couple of times, looked over at Kristoff (who just shrugged) and called after them, "I still say it's rude when you do that brain-talk-thingy and don't include us!"

They paid her no mind.

_[[ It's a good thing your castle has these tall ceilings. ]]_

_[[ This time, yes. They gave Anna all too many ideas for pranks and whatnot when she was younger. ]]_

Carlos took a quick glance at some of the memories running through her mind and winced. _[[ They really should have known better than to get her a … what in the world is that wheeled thing she's riding? ]]_

_[[ Papa called it a velocipede. ]]_

_[[ Well, they should have left it where they found it. ]]_

_[[ They didn't FIND it. They had it MADE for her. Papa saw one like it in France, but it was built all out of wood. We had an armorer on staff at the time … you know, I think HIS name was Olaf … and he was short and pudgy and had a big nose … maybe that's where I got it from … anyway, he had a lot of fancy tricks he could do with steel. ]]_ Carlos felt her smirk. _[[ He made a light suit of articulated armor for Papa that was harder and tougher than any sword. It would even stop bullets. He was immensely proud of it, but Papa never wore it except that first time it got fitted. Arendelle never got involved in any wars while he was King, you know, so he really didn't see the point. And Papa had Olaf use the same metal to make Anna's velocipede. That disgusted the poor man so badly that he quit. I heard he went to Russia. ]]_

They stopped in front of Elsa's door. She hopped off his head, he caught her, and lightly set her on her feet. Then they basically glomped each other.

Several very enjoyable (and light-headed) minutes later, he wished her a good night and strolled off to find his bed. Elsa watched him fondly for a moment, then sighed and entered her room.

She knew immediately that something was … different. The curtains were drawn and the maid had lit the lamp on her mantle, just as always. But something gave her a chill. Many people, Elsa among them, can tell when someone is watching, and she felt just such a presence. Her hands took on a blue glow as her eyes narrowed. If there was another assassin lying in wait, he was about to have a rude awakening. Muttering a swift bit of magic, she drew a ward about herself, and then released a sudden freeze across the room.

The magic fizzled out, and the hair stood up on the back of Elsa's neck.

"That won't be necessary, little Queen."

Elsa flinched badly. A curvaceous female figure ghosted into being on the divan in front of the wide window. The flickering lamplight only highlighted her beauty, now returned to her in full. Gathering her wits, Elsa made a low curtsey. "Lady Morana."

"Well. I see you've gained some manners since our first introduction."

"As you say, Lady. I was ignorant of many things."

"You still are."

"I, uh … sorry?"

The Fey stood and took slow steps in her direction. "I've been looking into your past."

"… Yes?"

"Your father was a fool."

Elsa blinked in shock. "A fool?"

"Yes. Soft-hearted, well-intentioned, but a fool none the less." She pointed at Elsa. "You were a prisoner, a prisoner in your own home, a prisoner to your own fears, and everything he did only made it worse. You should have been trained in the use of your power! Just think how much stronger you would be now, had you not stuffed it all down for thirteen years." She spread her arms wide. "All of Europe could have been yours for the taking!"

"I … um … well, I suppose so." Elsa was very confused. At their first encounter, Morana had every intention of extracting the ice magic and reclaiming it for her own. And now she's miffed because Elsa wasn't using it to control the entire continent?

The Fey gave her a lopsided grin. "Yes, well, that was then. This is now."

_She can hear my thoughts!_ "But …"

"Don't worry about it."

"I … um …" Mentally she threw up her hands. "Oh, very well. But all of Europe?"

"You can still do it. And you should. It would have meant years more practice ahead of you while you honed your abilities, but now, with that fire elemental bonded to you, there are few limits on what you can do. Very few. He knows it as well."

"… Carlos?"

"Eh. Perhaps 'suspects strongly' would be more accurate."

"But … begging your leave, Lady, why would I WANT all of Europe?"

"Oh, doubtless you don't. That isn't the point. It rarely is. But power must be allowed to expand to its natural limits, or there will be consequences. And YOUR limits, little Queen, are far-flung indeed."

Elsa thought that over. If she took it upon herself to … well, 'annex' the nations of Europe … what would happen?

"I'll tell you," answered Morana, fully aware of her train of thought. "You could clean up the midden heap that France has become, for one thing. You could prevent the Teutonic peoples from running roughshod over their neighbors every few years. You could stop Spain from imploding. You could end Avalon's monopoly on sea power. You could keep the Russians and Swedes from staging their damned wars in my back yard every other decade."

"I … yes, that's possible, but …"

"But you don't want to."

Holding up her hands in a placating manner, Elsa explained, "It's not that I don't care about the people! I do! And wars are never a good idea, I know. That's why Arendelle has remained neutral. But to do that, I would have to rule through fear! I … I just don't think …"

"I knew you would say that."

"What?"

"I knew you would be against it, that you would refuse the mantle of Imperial power."

Elsa frowned. "Then why bring it up at all?"

"To plant the seed."

"… Sorry?"

Morana waggled her fingers indifferently. "You'll figure it out later. When the time is right."

Pressing fingertips to her temples, Elsa closed her eyes and tried to rein in her exasperation. "Very well. I thank you."

"No, you don't, but it's polite of you to say so."

Elsa composed her mind and drew a long breath. "I fear that humans and Fey have different priorities in some areas."

Morana actually giggled. "I am dazzled by your capacity for understatement. And I have a bit of information for you."

"Oh?"

"You are going to be tested."

"… Tested?"

"Yes. You won't like it. You will need to make some crucial decisions, and make them quickly. Lives will hang in the balance, lives that are important to you. And you will need to dispense with mercy. If you hesitate …"

Fighting down a chill, Elsa prompted, "Yes?"

"It will go badly for you."

She forced her shoulders to relax. "Um … and, ah, when is this test going to take place?"

Those black eyes took on an other-worldly glow and held hers like a vice. "Soon."

Suddenly, swallowing seemed both necessary and difficult, but she managed it. Barely.

"Oh, and another thing." Morana snapped her fingers and Nicolai Petrov appeared beside her. He seemed to be in a trance. "I'm going to take this one with me."

Elsa's mouth opened and shut a couple of times while she tried to think of a politic response. "Is … um, is he … will he … you, ah, need his services for … something?"

"He pleases me." She ran a finger along his jawline. "See, now this is one instance where your penchant for mercy worked out well for me. In your shoes I would have executed him. He tried to kill you, and leaving enemies alive is just bad policy. But because you made a poor decision as Queen, he's still alive for me to enjoy."

"Enjoy?"

"Indeed. He understands much about revenge that most humans do not. He already worships me, which is an excellent start." Running her eyes up and down the lean, toned form, she added, "And he will have more present uses as well."

Elsa repressed a shudder.

"Oh, please. Don't think I haven't seen your fantasies involving your elemental! You are positively prurient!"

"But Carlos loves me!"

"That he does. Do you think this man will love me any less?" Her eyes grew large and luminous, her lips plump and pouty, her form taking on truly breathtaking proportions, her clothing swirling to diaphanous scraps and veils that suggested more than they hid. "Saying that I will fulfill his wildest, most intimate fantasies doesn't even begin to scratch the surface."

Now, one thing that must be understood is that Elsa loved Carlos deeply. She had never, until that moment, given an attraction to women even a passing thought. Nevertheless, heart suddenly pounding, she had to swallow and glance away. "But … but you will only break his heart."

Morana assumed her earlier form, for which Elsa was intensely grateful. "In the first place, you don't know that." She considered briefly and shrugged. "Yes, probably, but anything is possible. In the second, since he tried to kill both you and your lover, I'd think the breaking of his heart wouldn't bother you. In the third, even if I get tired of him – and I probably will – he will know ecstasy few mortals can conceive of. He may just find the game to be worth the candle. And lastly … it's really none of your business, is it?"

Elsa dropped her eyes. "No, Lady, I suppose it isn't."

"Remember what I said about swift action."

"Yes, Lady."

"We may meet again. I will be watching you from time to time. Your future is not at all clear past the next few days, but you have potential to change the world."

THAT brought her gaze back up! "The world?"

"Yes." She kicked the floor. "This ball of dirt we all live on, in one respect, but the world of Men, specifically. I get hints, outlines, silhouettes only, but …" She regarded Elsa narrowly and then shrugged again. "Or not. Time will tell. You might die soon, and then my visions wouldn't be much use, would they?"

"Um … die?"

"What? You're not immortal, you know. Or didn't you know that?"

"Yes!" Relieved to finally hear a question she could answer, Elsa took a deep breath. "Carlos told me that our lives are extended, but thank God, they are not endless."

"You may well thank your God for that. We are not so fortunate."

Elsa took a step toward the Fey. "Is it … hard? Living forever?"

Morana gave a snort. "You couldn't do it. Some of us try to get out of it, but it never works."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"If we die, we simply reincarnate. Full memories, same body. Nothing changes."

"Oh."

"Do you think you would like that?"

"No. No, I don't. I take comfort in knowing that my time on Earth has limits."

"And what then?"

"… What?"

"And after you die, then what?"

"Why, then there is Heaven."

"Or Hell."

"Um … well, yes, for the unfaithful and unrepentant."

"And you're sure about that?"

Elsa wasn't quite certain how to respond. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Don't mind me, I'm just rambling."

The Queen frowned. "You're doing that seed-planting thing again."

The black eyes sparkled. "Now would I do that?"

Elsa wisely held her tongue.

Morana stepped back. "Until later, little Queen." She and the former assassin vanished.

Elsa's door slammed open and Carlos stumbled into the room. _[[ Elsa! ]]_

She felt his presence in her mind then and turned to him. _[[ Carlos! What's wrong? Are you hurt? ]]_

_[[ No! Are you? ]] _He ran to her.

She pulled him into a hug. _[[ I'm fine. Why were you outside my door? ]]_

_[[ Your mind just … winked out! All of a sudden I couldn't feel you at all! I called and called, and tried to break your door down, but it was like running into a granite cliff! I was losing my mind! ]]_

_[[ Well … I won't say you had no reason. Morana was here. ]]_

His mental landscape devolved into a muddled mass of shock at that news.

_[[ She didn't offer to hurt me at all. But … ]] _Biting her lip, she led Carlos to the divan. _[[ Have a seat. I have a lot to tell you. ]]_

. . .

. . .

_End Note: Testing. I was never very good at taking tests when I was in school, and I dislike even more being tested now. I imagine it would be that much worse if lives hung in the balance. I wonder about whom Morana was speaking._

_Reviews = Warm Hugs! And I love warm hugs._


	24. Recreation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 23: Recreation**

. . .

. . .

_Thursday 29 July 1841, 6:44am_

A thread-thin ray of morning sun had been creeping sedately across Carlos's pillow for several minutes, and finally made it to sleeping man's face, bringing a slight squeeze of the eyes in response. The first thoughts that flitted through his mind weren't really _thoughts_, as such, just random feelings and impressions: warmth … pressure … sound …

_I am warm, but not unpleasantly so._ Yes, his body was immune to the ill effects of high temperatures, but that didn't mean he couldn't be uncomfortable in a stifling room. Here, however, all was well. High summer this far north was a treat.

_I feel pressure against my back, and against my side._ Again, the pressure was not great. Truthfully, the slight constriction on his ribs felt nice, if anything.

_I hear sound. It is regular. It is close. It belongs there._ He hadn't bothered puzzling that one out yet. The rise and fall of the low, buzzing noise was a comfort. Subconsciously, he drew joy from the sound. It made his world … right.

Proper.

Complete.

Most of a minute passed.

His eyes flickered, objecting to the intruding light. He moved his head, which jostled the rest of him, and suddenly several facts crystallized in his mind.

The sound was a light snoring. The pressure was a slender arm. The warmth was shared body heat.

He startled, just the tiniest bit, and jarred his bedmate. The snoring stuttered and fell silent, but a hand glided from his abdomen up across his chest, and gripped the top of his shoulder.

The past night's events flooded in, and suddenly he had never been more awake in his life.

. . .

. . .

_… much earlier …_

"But, Elsa!" he objected, reverting to voice for emphasis, "you don't have any idea what kind of test it'll be, or even who will be threatened!"

That didn't stop her pacing. The more she had shared with Carlos about Morana's visit, the more agitated she got. Her garment was in a constant state of flux, going through quick cycles of color and form that reflected her mental disorganization. She shot him a glance and huffed, "What part of 'lives hang in the balance' are you not comprehending?"

"That … could be an exaggeration. Or, considering how much the Fey like to mess with humans, an outright lie."

She stopped in front of him where he stood with his back to the large window, her eyes going un-focused for a moment, then shook her head. _[[ It was no lie. Something terrible is going to happen. ]]_ Closing the distance between them, she took his hands in hers, not meeting his eyes. She wet her lips … wet them again, and swallowed. "I can't … lose you."

"Why would you think I'm the target? Of all your loved ones, I am by FAR the most durable."

_[[ But you COULD be killed. You said so. ]]_

"Don't you think Anna or Kristoff would be a more likely choice? They'll be out in the open, surrounded by hundreds of people. Maybe thousands." He pulled her to his chest. She didn't resist. _[[ And Morana didn't tell you what form this 'test' would take. Maybe it's a test of your ability to rule. Maybe it's political. ]]_

_[[ She said I would have to 'dispense with mercy' and that lives that are 'important to me' would be in danger … and that I would have to make crucial decisions quickly. That doesn't sound political. It sounds more like an invasion. Or another assassination attempt. ]]_

"Hmm." His thoughts went fuzzy as he mulled over his answer. "Okay. I'll give you that. It will be some kind of attack, probably." _[[ If she was on the level. ]]_

Her eyes as she stared up at him were deep pools of indigo in the low light. "I can't take the chance that she was … joking."

"She's Fey. What they consider a joke …"

"I know! We've been over that." Still clutching his hand, she sat on the edge of the divan, then blinked a few times as she recalled this being the spot where Morana had materialized, and quickly rose again.

"You're very jumpy."

_[[ I'm upset. I'm __allowed__ to be upset. Someone is going to try to kill someone I love. I'd be insane NOT to be upset. ]]_

He only held her tightly, blending their psyches more thoroughly and blanketing her mind with a soft layer of peace and contentment and love.

A tremulous sigh worked its way past her lips as she hugged him back. _[[ You see? You __**are**__ perfect. ]]_

_[[ I'm not, you know. ]]_

_[[ You're perfect for me. The thought of losing you … it … I can't … ]]_

"Shhhhhhh." He stroked her hair, then began lightly massaging and scratching her scalp. She melted into a series of nearly-inaudible moans. "Shh. You will NOT lose me, or Anna, or anyone else. We'll work this out. We'll take precautions. Morana said it was a test, not a disaster." He pulled back until he could put their foreheads together, holding her gaze. _[[ We will take extra precautions, post extra guards. You can put up some more of those warning wards. If someone does try to attack, we'll know about it, and we can do something about it. I won't have you worrying yourself half to death when it isn't necessary. You're smart, you're a fast learner, and I'd bet my last _real_ that you EXCEL at taking tests. ]]_

A watery smile was his reward for that little pep talk. "See? Perfect."

He dropped a kiss onto her nose.

She sighed._ [[ Your thought about wards was a good one, and God only knows why I didn't think of it instantly. I've banished everything we'd put in place before the assassins invaded the castle, just for safety's sake, but I believe it's time for some more. ]]_

_[[ You can put up those modified Domes of Spleen and key them to you and me and Anna and Kristoff. ]]_

_[[ That, sir, is an excellent idea. ]]_ Her thought was punctuated by a yawn that quickly grew so deep she had to use both hands to cover it. "Oh, my goodness. Why am I suddenly so tired?"

"Oh, hey, I bet I know this one: you got up at the crack of dawn and spent the early parts of the day traveling, then had an emotional episode when Anna left, then we discovered what happens when our powers mix, we destroyed your ice palace, and we realized we were hopelessly in love with each other." His grin grew wide as he ticked points off on his fingers. "Then we were nearly killed by one of the Fey, saved by a different one, you rebuilt your ice palace, we spent some time FLYING and exploring our enhanced abilities, you plugged a volcano I caused, we flew back to the castle, had another emotional encounter with Anna and Kristoff, and then you got a terrifying visit from the same Fey that wanted to kill us." He took her upper arms gently into his hands. "You've been awake for close to twenty hours. The question isn't 'why are you tired?', but rather, 'why are you still on your feet?' … if you want my opinion."

"You make a …" She had to stop for another yawn and shook her head hard when it passed. "… a very compelling argument, sir."

"Then I will bid you a good night."

Suddenly HER fingers were latched into HIS arms. "Carlos …"

"What? What is it?"

She nibbled her lower lip as she stared up at him. _[[ I don't want to be alone. ]]_

_[[ Um … I don't think … ]]_

_[[ No. Not for … not for that. I'm … I just … I love you. ]]_

His grin stretched his ears back. "And I love you, a state of affairs I couldn't have conceived of a month ago. But there you are."

"I'm … I'm just …" She buried her face in his chest. _[[ I don't think I can relax if you aren't with me. For … for a little while. ]]_

"Well …"

_[[ Please? ]]_

His resistance crumbled. "Okay. But just until you're relaxed."

_[[ Of course. ]]_

"And we both need to stay clothed."

"Carlos!" Her tone was indignant.

"I'm just … anticipating the various … after all, you did MAKE these clothes …"

"I know. And you're right, although the, uh …" She blushed prettily (but then Carlos was convinced that everything she did was done prettily). _[[ … doing, um, doing otherwise hadn't occurred to me. ]]_

"Okay, then, good."

They wandered through the short hall, past her dressing room, and into Elsa's bedchamber, arms around each other. A slight frown got comfortable on her brow as she looked at her bed. _[[ Covers or no covers? ]]_

_[[ I don't really have an opinion one way or another. Whatever suits you. ]]_

_[[ What suits me is … I, um … ]]_

He turned incredulous eyes her way. _[[ You don't wear nightclothes? ]]_

"Um …" She leaned against him so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. "It's … more comfortable. Nightgowns get all bunched up, even the silk ones."

He had to laugh. "Well, my love, for propriety's sake …"

"If I wanted to accede to propriety," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes, "you wouldn't be in my bedchamber right now."

"Point taken. Still, I think we're tempting Fate quite thoroughly enough already without tossing oil on the blaze by being naked together."

Several of his thoughts ran through her mind, and she gasped at certain of the concepts. Moving to face him, she breathed, "Can … can you really DO that?"

It was his turn to blush then. _[[ You weren't supposed to pick up on that. ]]_

_[[ I wonder if Anna and Kristoff would object to a double wedding. ]]_

"Elsa!"

"Sorry! I'm sorry. But … but … wow." The urgent heat building in her nether regions was making it hard to think. "Waiting for that long … to experience … well … it's going to be … difficult."

He knew EXACTLY what she was talking about, and shook his head firmly. "Elsa. I want to … no, make that, I **shall** make love with you, and it will be an experience unlike any you have had previously." He stopped, and then gave a low laugh. _[[ For that matter, since our minds will be melded, and each of us will feel everything the other feels, it will be unlike anything __**I've**__ ever experienced, either. I relish it, I anticipate it. But we must first be married. I want nothing to taint your enjoyment, your pleasure, and I know that you take your faith at least as seriously as I do. ]]_

"… You're right. I'm sorry. I'm being a silly girl."

"You're being a woman in love. That's a bit different. And you've no idea how deeply I cherish your love. I will do nothing to harm it."

She crushed him into a long, tight hug, a couple of tears squeezing out from under her lashes, and murmured. "Perfect. No arguments."

After a minute he asked, "So which side of the bed do you sleep on?"

"… Side?"

A chuckle preceded, "Ah, let me guess. You sleep in the middle."

"Well, yes."

Studying the ornate bed, he said, "Eh. It's plenty big. Shouldn't be an issue."

"Do you sleep on one side?"

"It's a habit. I sleep with my back to a wall, or facing the door, preferably both."

"Hmm. Even in your home?"

"Yes, even then."

"Don't you have guards?"

"I have a few squads of men that patrol the estate, but no personal guards, no."

"Why not?"

Cupping her cheek gently with one hand, he asked, "Do you recall what you felt when you saw Ivar and Christian lying dead in front of your door?"

A quick chill shook her hard and she shuddered against him. "Oh."

"I knew that I could defend myself better than anyone in my employ. I didn't see the point in putting them in harm's way. And really, there have been very few people of my acquaintance in the last many years who both considered themselves my enemies and knew my real identity. So I felt safe enough that …"

Suddenly his hand was wet.

"Elsa? Oh, Darling, I'm sorry!"

"It's my fault," she sobbed. "Why is everything my fault?"

"It isn't, you know. Your situation is fundamentally different from mine. You are the Queen, the Head of State. You represent Arendelle in a very real and basic way."

"But …"

"No. Please listen. If someone had killed me and taken over my estate, it wouldn't have made one iota of difference in the way Spain was run. You, on the other hand, are vital – _irreplaceable_ – in the operation, even the existence, of Arendelle."

Shimmering eyes sought his for reassurance.

"It's true. It isn't just you that the assassins were threatening. It was your entire country, the country you fought so hard to save, the country that loves you as no other leader in the world is loved. You require guards, not just for your safety, but for the security and continuity of your kingdom. Yes, it is a terrible tragedy that nine good men died. Such a thing leaves behind an awful hole. But I feel sure they would all agree that such things are simply the risk one takes when one does his duty to his Queen."

No answer came immediately. Tears still tracked her cheeks. She sniffled twice.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laid her gently down, and stretched out beside her. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and sighed. "Sometimes … actually, a lot of times … I wish I weren't the Queen."

"If you think you're the only ruler who ever –"

"Oh, I know better than that. And you make a lot of sense." She executed another jaw-cracking yawn, covered with a guilty hand. "Dear Lord, I'm tired."

"Please refer to my earlier comments."

"Please just hold me."

"Happily."

They tried a few different positions, but Elsa couldn't seem to find one that didn't put an arm in a bind in some way. She looked up at Carlos, frustrated. _[[ How do people even do this? ]]_

_[[ It's different for different people. ]] _Deciding to simply arrange them in a comfortable pose, he rolled her onto her left side and spooned up behind her, clasping his right arm across her stomach. She blushed, but didn't comment.

The spoon put his face right behind her head. "By the saints!" he breathed. "Your hair smells incredible!"

_[[ … Thank you. ]]_ She seemed somewhat hesitant.

Silence ate up half a minute. "You did ask me to stay."

"I know."

"Would you like me to sit over on the-"

"No!"

He chuckled again. Raising himself on his left elbow, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You're a bundle of contradictions. Did you know that?"

"All my life."

"Hmm." Easing himself back down, he found her right hand and laced his fingers with hers. "Sometimes new things are hard, aren't they?"

"You have no idea."

_[[ We'll work through whatever comes up, okay? ]]_

"… Okay."

_[[ Tomorrow we'll begin placing the detection wards. We'll see to it that Anna and Kristoff stay safe. ]]_

_[[ And you. ]]_

_[[ Yes, and me. We will all be fine. ]]_

Her concern and uncertainty came to him clearly through the link.

He kissed her hair, then kissed her neck, then snuggled in close. "Sleep will make it better."

"Will it?"

"That's what _Mamá_ used to say. I've found it to be true in most cases."

She made no reply, growing very still, and Carlos just lay there and basked in her aura for several minutes. As it happened, her even breathing was quite soporific. He told himself he would get up, that he would slide out of the bed and go to his room, to his own bed … but that didn't happen.

They spent the next few hours walking through each other's dreams.

. . .

. . .

_… back to the morning _… __

And now she was behind him, her delicate arm pinning him in place more effectively than a tree trunk.

The night being dry and very warm, they had gone to sleep on top of the coverlet, fully clothed in the hardened-water creations she'd made for them on the mountain. He'd found the slight coolness most pleasant. Now, though, the outfits were nowhere to be seen. He could feel the light breeze coming through the window, gliding over his bare flank. Even more acutely could he feel Elsa's silken firmness pressed against him, high on his back.

He softly cleared his throat.

She didn't budge at all.

"Elsa?" It was little more than a whisper.

Still no response.

"Elsa … Sweetheart … I need you to wake up."

She mumbled something unintelligible against his neck. Her left leg – her long, flawless, utterly bare left leg – moved up and covered his.

Carlos didn't normally sweat, but he was willing to make an exception for this situation. _[[ Elsa. Please listen to me. ]]_

Her mind was blissfully fuzzy. All he got back were vague images. Happy vague images.

Sighing deeply, he considered his options. Figuring it would be easier to slide out of bed if he presented a lower profile, he turned slowly in her grasp until he lay on his back. But she repositioned her grip on his shoulder, and her leg snaked up a little farther … and collided with his suddenly-very-interested manhood. He gave a mighty gasp, his blood abandoning his brain for points south.

That did it. Elsa's eyes fluttered open. She gazed sleepily at her bedmate for a moment before frowning and moving her leg again. Then their mutual state of total undress slammed home. Wide eyes stared into his, then glanced downward, and then she gave a little shriek and bounced backward off the side of the bed. "Ohmygod! Carlos!"

He slid off on his side. "Um … Good morning."

"What the … _**devil**_ is going on?"

"You seem to have vanished our clothes sometime last night."

Accusingly, she asked, "How long have you been awake?"

"Only a couple of minutes. I've been trying to wake YOU up."

"How did … but you were … did … did we?"

"Not as far as I know."

"But … but you were …" She gave a gesture with her head. "You were … um … stiff."

"That happens."

"But we didn't … ?"

"No. You would know, trust me."

"… Okay."

"So, if you don't mind, would you please conjure us some clothes?"

"Um … Okay. But, uh, you'll have to, uh, stand up."

"… Why?"

"I can't, um, see you to … position them properly."

"That sounds like SUCH an excuse."

She huffed in exasperation. "Well what do you want me to do? I can't see where they go!"

He thought about it for a few seconds before getting a startled look on his face. Knocking a fist against his head, he muttered, "I'm an idiot." Then he pulled the coverlet off the bed, wrapped it around himself, and rose a few hand-spans into the air.

"Oh," observed Elsa. "I guess that will work, too."

"I'll be back once I get my clothes on. I'm hungry enough to eat a mule, and don't bother skinning it, so I know you probably are as well."

"Famished." She was regaining a little of her equilibrium.

"We'll get some breakfast and then see what's up with everyone, okay?"

"… Yeah. That seems like a sound plan."

He blew her a kiss and floated out the door.

. . .

. . .


	25. Negotiation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_[**Author's Note #1**: It is currently a quarter of three in the morning, evidence of the fact that my sleep cycle has STILL not reset from my recent trip to Belgium. Jet lag is a bitch. In any case, I've been awake for 22 hours, and my brain is firing on about a third of it's normal cylinders, so there may be the odd spelling error in here. A virtual cookie to any reader who finds one and alerts me to the goof.]_

_[**Author's Note #2**: I apologize for the lengthy delay in posting. Life has been kicking my dragging butt lately. I thought I'd be able to finish a couple of chapters during my evenings in Belgium, but as it turned out we worked until 8:00pm three nights, and I was sick for two of them. So that didn't happen. (I REALLY don't recommend getting sick overseas.) And teenage drama on the home front has occupied what used to pass for my discretionary time over much of the last month. Ergo, most of this chapter got written in tight, five-to-seven-minute bursts, when I could snatch one.]_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 24: Negotiation**

. . .

. . .

_Thursday 29 July 1841, 7:30am_

Mistress Gerda, palace chatelaine and Main Lady in Charge of Stuff, examined a basket of eggs with a critical eye, hefting one after another. "Magda, how long have these been in the larder?"

"Not sure, Mum. Tarryn's been on eggs for the last two weeks."

"Oh, right." A frown marred her pleasant face momentarily. "Getting old and addlepated."

"Been the same way, Mum. That bad business with those horrible men what tried t' kill the Queen done put us all off our feed."

"That's the truth of it, and no mistake." Gerda looked around for the scullery in question, spotting her by the smaller hearth. Bustling over, and dodging two of the cooks on the way, Gerda tapped the younger girl's shoulder.

Tarryn jumped and whirled around. "Mum!"

"The basket of brown eggs … when did you pick them up?"

"Three days ago, Mum!"

"Are you sure they were fresh when you got 'em?"

"Aye, Mum. Picked 'em up straight from Old Elmer. Half of 'em was still warm."

"And you put them straight into the icebox?"

"Aye, Mum!"

"… Hmm."

"Is somethin' wrong, Mum?"

"I cracked one a minute ago, and it was fertile."

Tarryn's eyes widened. "I'm that sorry, Mum!"

"It shouldn't be a problem, really. It was quite small. But I don't think the larder icebox is cold enough. I'd like to have the Queen chill them when she gets back."

The scullery grinned. "Aye, that'll do it for sure."

The availability of easy quick-freezing had made a big difference in how the kitchens were managed. Typically, in the summertime the icebox would take a couple of hours to chill an item from ambient to safe storage temperature. Early in her reign, Elsa had remarked on a bit of gamey lamb, and Gerda had explained how the larder functioned. The Queen then had the bright idea of offering her aid in that regard. Since then they had worked out a system. At each meal, those dishes which would require freezing afterward were served on blue plates or bowls. As soon as everyone was done, Elsa simply iced them. Once frozen, the icebox could very comfortably keep the items cold for days. She would also drop by the kitchen most mid-mornings to cool down any produce or fresh meat that had been delivered. Spoiled food was now a thing of the past, and cases of food poisoning had been all but eliminated.

Gerda often reflected with irritation that they COULD have been doing this for the last fourteen years, if a certain tight-assed King had been a bit more open-minded. Truth be told, she had a preference – a strong preference – for Elsa's style of rule as opposed to her father's.

Tarryn offered to do a spin-test on all the eggs to sort out which ones were still good, and that placated Gerda. "That's a good lass. I'll get Johann to bring us up another block of ice from the cellars. That should …" She stopped, having spotted someone easing into the kitchen who, in her opinion, had no business being there. Striding purposefully over to the door, she was halfway there when she locked eyes with the interloper.

Juan recognized her and grinned. "Mistress Gerda!" he greeted her in French, "a very good morning to you!"

Her frown getting deeper, she concentrated on her answer. "Not my French could be good for not."

That raised his eyebrows. He switched to a more familiar tongue. "Oh. Um … do you speak Spanish?"

This question only confused her.

"How about Dutch?"

She breathed a relieved sigh, having lived in Rotterdam for a year in her youth. "Dutch more better to French." Poking him in the arm, she asked, in HER native tongue, "Don't you speak Norwegian?"

"Bad. Too new is not understand too new much for talk it. Listen is understand okay."

She shrugged. "I'll listen in Dutch. You listen in Norwegian. We'll get by."

He rubbed his hands together. "I asked one of the guards and he said to ask you."

"Ask me what?"

"I want to buy a house."

That brought her up short. "You? You, yourself, personally want to buy a house in Arendelle?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Carlos is going to be living here in the castle, so I figured I should get my own place. I don't expect the Queen to put me up forever, and I don't like to be a burden."

Gerda took a moment to process that. "Carlos … is going to be living in the castle?"

"Of course."

Her face betrayed her confusion. "How long?"

It was Juan's turn to be confused. "As long as Elsa lives here, I would suppose."

"… I don't understand."

"You wouldn't expect them to live apart, would you?"

"… I get the feeling I am missing some vital information. Why would Carlos be spending the rest of his life in the castle? Is he afraid she's going to be targeted for assassination forever?"

Juan sorted through those questions. A light came on. "Oh! You don't … well, no, of course not. There's no reason you would necessarily know since you weren't there. Okay, I get it."

"WHAT do I not know?"

"Carlos and Queen Elsa are going to get married."

Gerda actually took a step backward in shock. "… MARRIED?!"

Juan nodded vigorously. "They are madly in love."

"But … but … but they JUST MET! He hasn't been here a week! I mean, sure, he saved her life and helped against the assassins, but … And that's just crazy! She'd be doing the same thing she forbade Anna from doing!"

"I don't follow."

"Have you heard about Prince Hans of the Southern Isles?"

"Oh. Him." Juan frowned darkly. He had heard about the former prince's attempt at a coup, and his escape from the dungeon. "Yes. So?"

"Anna fell under his charms and agreed to marry him the same night they met."

"Same night … wait, what?"

"At the Queen's coronation party last year."

"I take it he was a guest?"

"Yes. And he planned to marry Anna, then murder Elsa so Anna could ascend to the throne and make him King. And he probably would have killed Anna, too, after that. He's a rotten snake!" She spat three times on the floor.

"… Ohhhhhhhh. That does shed some light on the matter."

"So there is no way Elsa would marry someone she just met."

Juan nodded, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Every Last Member of the kitchen staff was listening intently. Never one to ignore a stage when he had one handy, the old man grinned and decided to play it up. "Have you been told about the origin of Queen Elsa's powers?"

"… What? Origin? But … nobody knows that. Not even her, and she was BORN with her ice powers. Why, she'd freeze her cradle if she got too cranky as an infant."

"So Master Kai didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Carlos and Elsa are of the same stock. They both have powers because they both have Faerie ancestors."

A sharp gasp from one of the cooks and a scullery echoed through the kitchen, followed instantly by a fierce buzz of low conversation, and Juan's grin grew very large. "I see no reason why you shouldn't know. Everyone knows about her powers already. Now you know why."

"And Kai knew this?"

"Sure. He found out … well, I think he got a first idea about it Tuesday morning. Then he asked me about it after lunch. We talked for a while."

"Is that why Carlos went with them up to her ice palace?"

"Actually, I'm almost positive Princess Anna engineered that. But you can bet your last kroner he didn't object."

The look on Gerda's face made Juan feel sorry for Kai.

"So, yeah, they're both alike, sort of. They both have Fey ancestors, both have powers … and they are just STUPID in love with each other. I can't see any other reasonable outcome. They WILL get married."

"The palace gossip circuit is woefully out of date, then."

"I guess you can catch everyone up to speed now."

Pointing at her staff, several of whom were gesticulating as they whispered among themselves, she concluded, "I won't have to."

"Good." His eyes took on a sparkle. "Then can you tell me how to buy a house?"

. . .

. . .

_8:10am_

It was times like these that made Kristoff glad Anna's room was on the north, and much cooler, side of the palace. For such a slight girl, she was surprisingly strong. Also, she had become very creative – and very enthusiastic – about their sexual exploits, and that enthusiasm often translated into frenzied activity, which left them both sweat-drenched and breathing hard. When she took time to think about it, Anna thought her sheets could use a good wash, but given that Kristoff only found the smell arousing, she left them alone. For now.

What the ice harvester DIDN'T find arousing was someone banging on Anna's door immediately after they'd made love. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be in her room. If they were discovered, as he had pointed out to her on any number of occasions, the scandal would be intense. Possibly short-lived (he was, after all, the 'hometown-boy-made-good', and even those who didn't think the Princess should marry below her station liked him personally) but it wouldn't be any fun to deal with at the time.

He peered over at Anna. Her face was still somewhat flushed, her breathing rapid, and the heavy musk of sex permeated the room. Still, the flurry of knocks brought her bolt-upright in bed, eyes wide. She glanced at her lover and whispered, "Did you lock the door?"

"Of course!" he hissed back, slipping out of the bed and gathering his clothes.

She cleared her throat and called, "Who is it?"

"It's Olga, Highness. Mistress Gerda says to tell you there are two men to see you about some fish."

Anna smacked her forehead and muttered, "Crap! That WAS today. Man, did they ever get here early." Clearing her throat again, she answered, "I'll be down in ten … make that twenty minutes."

"Yes, Highness. I'll tell her." The _toktoktoktok_ of her heels faded down the hall.

Anna leaned over and poked Kristoff's chest. "You stay right here until five minutes after I leave!"

"Hey, no problem." He shrugged into his tunic and buckled the wide sash. "Who are these guys, and why in the world do they want to talk to you about fish?"

The Princess scooted off the other side of the bed, wiggling her softly-rounded, lentiginous rear at her fiancé. She padded to her dressing room, and disappeared inside, calling back, "One of 'em hails from France. I don't remember where the other guy calls home. Some place in Austria? Somewhere around there. I've got their letters in my desk. I think."

"So why are they here again?"

"They want to buy some cod."

"Cod? What, they don't have cod in France?"

"Nope."

"I don't get it. Why don't they just go to the market?"

She stuck her head out and gave him an 'I can't believe you're asking that' look. "Because they want to buy several hundred TONS of cod."

Kristoff stilled. "Tons?"

"Tons." She ducked back inside. "You remember that storm that the trolls told you about last winter?"

"Oh, Hells, yes! If they hadn't told me, and I hadn't told you and you hadn't told your sister …"

"Exactly." Lots of thumping and rustling echoed from the room. "Well, that same … damn this stupid whalebone … same storm didn't just hit us. It came up the whole Atlantic coast."

"… Oh."

"Yeah, 'Oh'. And all the other places didn't have a handy-dandy Snow Queen to save them. Stories have been dribbling in all through the spring and summer, but the upshot is that EVERYBODY between the Arctic and the Mediterranean got totally shellacked. It took everybody by surprise, and every other fishing fleet – and most Navies – took heavy damage. Lots of 'em were completely wiped out, and lots of THOSE haven't had the money to rebuild their fleets yet. Not only that, the storm went inland a long way and really did a number on hundreds of villages and farms and stuff." She hopped out of the dressing room on one foot, adjusting her bodice while holding a shoe. "Hey, lace me up."

He quickly complied. She'd had him do this before. "So France didn't do too well after the storm?"

"That they did not. And hunger is a big deal there, and the monarchy is afraid of a general revolt."

"Doesn't that kinda thing just … well, sort of _happen_ in France now and then?"

"You'd get that idea, wouldn't you? Well, anyway, we got word a few weeks ago that France wanted to strike a deal for some of our excess cod."

"Wait, what? Arendelle has a hundred tons of EXCESS cod?"

"More like six thousand."

"… What?"

"Six. Thousand."

"… Tons."

"Yep."

"Of EXCESS cod."

"Yep. All nice and dry, most of it."

"What the Hell?"

"What did I just say about all those other fishing fleets?"

Kristoff was a businessman. The answer hit him immediately. "Nobody else is fishing!"

"Bingo. Well, not much. There are a FEW other boats working, and more over the last month or so. But Arendelle has a LOT more active fishing boats out on the banks than everybody else in this part of the world put together. Normally, we only make up about five percent of the total. This year? Better than eighty percent, as a best guess from the captains." She gave a brief giggle. "They're even using that '74' my sister captured last spring."

"The warship? Seriously?"

"Yep. The _Elsa_ will hold a LOT of fish. And Admiral Naismith's been using that as an excuse to –"

"Elsa?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, he named it that. The Admiral says it's his place to name naval vessels, and he thought that name would be best. The sailors all consider it lucky. Name it after the biggest badass in Europe." Anna dimpled and continued, "Boy was Elsa pissed! She told him to pick another name, but by then it was already in the official records, and he said he couldn't change it."

"Heh. So the biggest, meanest warship in the local waters is called the _Elsa_. That's pretty good."

"Oh, it totally is. Anyway, the Admiral is using it to break in some of his sailors on running it. They don't actually fish from it, but when one of the small boats gets full, they transfer their load to the _Elsa_ and just keep on working. They even start the drying process on board. Lord knows they have plenty of room."

"So … so that's why they've been out fishing, like, all the time?"

A wink and a finger pointed at him confirmed his statement. "They're catching a full load every two or three or four days. Normally it takes them upwards of two weeks."

"Right, right. And having the _Elsa_ along would explain why they've been out for almost two weeks this time." He ran some numbers through his head and nodded. "And here I thought it was because they were having a hard time FINDING fish! Whoa. Wait a minute." Kristoff spun on his heel and strode to the window. He looked out, then pointed toward the fjord. "Is that what those new warehouses are for? Is THAT why we imported so much salt three months back?"

She was checking her hair in the mirror, winding it into a twist and thinking, _Stupid red fuzzy mop_ … "Got it in one. We ran out of our usual supplies. Had to boil it out of seawater for almost a month just so what we'd already caught wouldn't spoil. That's what that shipload of coal was for. Oh, and it's not just those three warehouses."

"… There are others?"

"You wouldn't know about it. You don't move in those circles. But the main drying houses are on a few small islands just north of the fjord mouth."

"Well, yeah, I DID know about that." He'd heard about the drying houses from time to time in the taverns.

"Smart guy. Elsa had another eight warehouses put up out there, nice and convenient."

"Eight!"

"Eight."

"As big as those by the docks?"

"Actually, a good bit bigger. We didn't have enough room to make them that big here."

"Holy cow."

She stood and twirled for Kristoff. "How do I look?"

Her gown was a very pale blue satin, the bodice sewn with a delicate pattern of lace in a deep royal purple. The full, puffy sleeves were slashed with the same color, and a slightly lighter suede sash with matching shoes and choker completed the ensemble.

A wide grin dominating his face, Kristoff replied, "Good enough to eat."

"But you did that already."

"And I'm still hungry."

She tripped over to him and pecked him on the cheek. "Me, too. Save it for later." Then she zipped out the door.

He counted off the five minute delay and then made his clandestine way down to the cellars and out the sally door.

. . .

. . .

The diplomatic envoys had arrived on the previous noon's tide. The two ships came in almost simultaneously (in fact, the two captains had been engaged in something of a race) and docked within a minute of each other.

The Vicomte Pierre Charles Gaston Foucault-de-Chenier, a tall, spare man with a thick head of brown hair, led one group. His ship, _La Belle du Lyons_, was a 28-gun schooner of the latest design, long and wide-bellied, and was filled with a variety of trade goods that the ruling family of France thought might tempt the Snow Queen. He was determined to forestall the peasant revolt that was simmering toward open conflict around Paris.

Hermann Mijner, First Baron of Gelderstijn, commanded the rival company. He was a thick stump of a man, barrel chested and gruff, and what remained of his hair had turned prematurely white. Though older, his ship _Zeewulf_ was half again bigger than the _Belle_, and put on nearly twice as much sail. That was the only reason it could keep pace with the sleeker schooner. He was grimly focused on feeding his people to keep their strength up. His neighbors to the east knew how badly last winter's storms had handled that part of northern Europe, and they smelled blood in the water. He had an invasion to end before it began.

Both men had come prepared to pony up some serious pelf. Both were determined to go back to their respective countries with contracts for enough dried cod to get them through their current crises.

Both also arrived so seasick that neither could stand on his own. And while they would have preferred to commence negotiations shortly after arrival, as had been stated in their letters of introduction that had arrived ten and twelve days ago, respectively, they had decided, independently of one another, that it would be better not to be sick all over the Arendelle royals. That could seriously interfere with trade.

This morning they were feeling much better … physically. But the envoy parties had arrived at the castle gates at nearly the same instant, surprising one another badly, and a quick exchange of information didn't help things. The knowledge that each had a direct rival for his object of trade put both men on the defensive.

So it was an atmosphere thick with tension and animosity that Princess Anna sailed into when she made her entrance in the Hall of Reception. Kai announced her, and she took her seat on the small throne, primly erect. She didn't necessarily enjoy some of the responsibilities of her position, but that didn't mean she couldn't carry them out.

The Baron's herald stepped forward immediately, only to have the Viscount's _charge d'affairs_ bump him to the side as he unrolled a scroll. The herald spun to face him, his countenance dark with rage …

"Gentlemen?"

They stopped and turned to the Princess.

"Would both of you be kind enough to rejoin your parties?"

They hurried to comply.

Anna regarded them serenely for a moment, then motioned Kai over. Very quietly, she asked, "Do you know the names of the envoys? I couldn't find their letters."

"Yes, Your Highness." He was stiffly formal in such settings. "That is because I have the letters."

"Ah. Good. Do you know who goes with what country?"

It was fairly obvious which of the men were peers, given the clothing they wore, and the deference they were treated with by their people, but nationality was a puzzle. However, Kai (ever ahead of the curve) had done his homework on that. He indicated which was which.

Anna smiled gently. "Vicomte? Baron? Would the two of you please approach?"

They did, wary of each other, but loath to make a bad impression on the Princess.

"Very good." She waved a hand at the rest of the parties. "You may all leave."

A couple of protests began, but died a quick and silent death under her raised eyebrow. The guards ushered the rest of the followers out of the room.

"Kai, the chairs, if you please?"

The old retainer motioned to two lackeys, who quickly brought over a pair of stuffed chairs for the visitors. Anna gave them each a pointed look, whereupon they sat.

"Now. What I would like to know to start with is why you two seem to be at each other's throats. Are your nations at war?"

"No, Your Highness!" It came out in harmony. The men looked at each other.

"Then I don't see why there should be a problem." Indicating the Vicomte, she asked, "How much fish were you intending to trade for?"

Clearing his throat, and shooting a look of venom at the Baron, he answered, "That is a point of negotiation that I believe should be kept between us … without any outside interference."

"Interference! Why you …"

"Gentlemen."

They quieted.

Anna volleyed her attention between the two for a few breaths. "Gentlemen. Arendelle is prepared to enter into contract negotiations for fifteen hundred tons of dried, salted cod."

The Baron jumped in, "But I need nine hundred tons at a minimum! Surely you can see that a starving people should take precedence over-"

She held up a hand, interrupting him and scotching the Vicomte's protest. "Fifteen hundred tons … each."

Both men sat back. The Vicomte asked, hesitantly, "You will bargain with me for fifteen hundred tons?"

"And another fifteen hundred for me?" echoed the Baron.

"Yes. Arendelle has quite a lot of it, as you surely have heard. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

"Well … yes, of course," answered the Baron, "but … I had no idea … I thought …"

"We have plenty. I only limited it to that amount because, in the first place, I rather thought that was all you would be able to afford, and in the second, there may be other countries with just as great a need. As you are doubtless aware, if Arendelle weren't out on the banks, the majority of the fish would simply remain uncaught. We have been as diligent as we might, and the fishing fleet has worked these past five months without a break." To entice them to do that, the Queen had allotted the fishermen a special dispensation that directed a portion of the trade profits, above and beyond their regular pay, to the men who had worked so very diligently at the harvest. Anna forbore telling her visitors that, or about how pirates had begun harassing the fleet, and how the small Arendelle Navy had to step in and run guard patrols so that the heavily-laden vessels could make it back to port unscathed.

The men stared at her solemnly. After a moment the Vicomte observed, "You are quite a surprising person, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Vicomte. Surprising in a good way, one hopes."

"Indeed. Fifteen hundred tons is more than I'd dared hoped for. But now," he continued with a frown, "now one must wonder: what is it that you want for your fish?"

"Gentlemen, please. Arendelle is not in the business of extortion. We want a fair price for the fish, nothing more."

"And how would you go about defining 'fair'?" asked the Baron.

"That is what negotiating is all about. Shall we begin?"

. . .

. . .

A few rooms away, in a small salon where they'd repaired with the last remains of their breakfast, Elsa and Carlos observed the proceedings via the astral plane. Elsa exclaimed, _[[ I'm so proud of her I could just swell up and burst! ]]_

_[[ She certainly has stepped up to the challenge. ]]_ Carlos agreed. _[[ I'd gotten the impression when we first met that she was flighty and perhaps a bit shallow. It's obvious now that it was only her exuberant personality. She's got a calculating mind and a spine of tempered steel behind those blue eyes. A formidable combination. ]]_

_[[ I've certainly never met anyone braver. ]]_ The Queen reflected on that thought for a bit.

After observing for another minute or so, Carlos asked, _[[ So you want to leave her to it? Or would you rather lend a hand? ]]_

_[[ I trust her instincts. She can certainly manage the deals. ]]_

_[[ I defer to your judgment, you being the expert on all things Anna. ]]_

Elsa colored slightly. _[[ Not ALL things. Kristoff has his own field of expertise. And he's welcome to it. ]]_

He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. _[[ Yes, I'd imagine. ]]_ Standing, he asked, "So what would you like to do with the day? Should we get started on the wards?"

"A capital suggestion, sir."

. . .

. . .

_9:45am_

The telescope had been a very useful discovery. Almost as useful as Gregor's _Handbook of Arcane Poisons_.

Having disguised it as part of a cartload of pruned tree limbs, Hans methodically ported it around to a handful of locations in the hills well to the north and east of the city center. From those vantage points, he'd been able to glean something of an idea of the general schedule of events in the castle. The day before had been largely a bust, as the Witch and her retinue had left for the North Mountain before he'd had any idea they were even awake. Then the Princess and that buffoon of an ice harvester came back alone. He still cursed that missed opportunity. Those idiot thugs would pay for that. But now Elsa was back, somehow, sneaking past him in the night. And she was spending the mid-morning hours casting her vile sorcery around the castle.

He'd picked up a great deal of information over the last couple of days, and knew as much as anyone in the city about how the Queen had successfully defended herself against an assassination attempt. (It had something to do with a new variation on her magic, but the stories varied wildly, and he didn't know what to believe.) He also knew that the Spaniard who was currently hanging onto her every word, and who never left her side, was an incredibly dangerous man, and possibly the best swordsman in all of Europe. The colossal pile of rotting corpses well south of the city gave mute testimony to that fact. He was also, if rumor had any validity at all, at least somewhat resistant to poison.

Hans planned to test that theory. The Spaniard had to die, one way or another, if he had any hope of getting to the Ice Witch. And her obvious affection for him offered one more avenue of attack. Anything Hans could do to hurt her, any additional pain he could cause …

He snarled again, spitting out a few choice curses at not having Anna in his power yet. He'd relished the thought of carving away the girl's limbs bit by bit, and sending each piece of her, gift-wrapped, to her wretched sister. Perhaps, if he timed it right, he could use the telescope to watch her unwrap some of the parcels. That would be truly delicious. He would have to balance it just right, maiming the girl sufficiently to put Elsa into apoplectic fits, but leaving enough of Anna intact to make it worth the Queen's effort to rescue her … and thus fall into his trap.

The hazy, facinorous images swirled around in his mind. He was impatient to get started on his revenge, yet he retained enough of his faculties to understand that he needed to exercise the greatest of care with his plans if he wanted to remain free. Taking a last, frustrating look through the telescope, he stood and went about the business of packing it in the cart. He needed to get back to the castle stables by noon and start mucking out the stalls … and catching up on the palace gossip.

. . .

. . .


	26. Connection

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 25: Connection**

. . .

. . .

_Thursday 29 July 1841, 10:00am_

Almost all of the men who made up the Watch preferred doing active patrols, and Lars Hagebak was no exception. That's why he was in such a bad mood as he stomped down the worn, stone stairs to the dungeon, carrying a small sack containing the assassin prisoner's ration of dried meat, hard tack and small beer. Lars had won a spot from that mutton-head Torlofsson kid on the Market-to-Dock circuit fair and square! (Eh … perhaps not _entirely_ square – that deck of cards was old, and he knew what a lot of them were from scratches and spots on the backs, but he figured that anyone with a keen eye could do the same, so it really didn't bother him much.) And then for the Captain to assign him _specifically_ to dungeon duty instead of letting him … it was so … so unfair, so … and why'd Cap pick on him? … it just – just … Seriously, he couldn't come up with an oath sulfurous enough to describe how he felt about it. But then, he was relatively young yet.

Emerging into the long hall, he stalked over to where the poor sap stood who'd had the Dawn Watch, and started to poke him in the back. "Hey, Berk, I'm …"

The man was not alone. Another figure sat on a stool just beyond him.

Lars drew his hand back and slipped around beside him. "Wait, who's that? Berk, I know this post is boring but … Berk?"

Berk, however, made no answer. His eyes were fixed in a glassy stare. His mouth hung slightly open, as well; a thin trail of drool disappeared into his goatee. In that same instant, Lars absorbed two facts: the other man, the man whose shoulder Berk's hand rested on as if to shake him awake, was Tal Eiriksen, who'd had the Midnight Watch; and the cell Berk stood before, the cell assigned to Nicolai Petrov, was vacant.

Taking a hurried step back, Lars yelled, "Berk! Tal! What the Hell?"

Everyone knew the stories of what the assassins had done when they broke their compatriot out of the dungeon, and the details had only grown more lurid with each re-telling. Lars dropped the sack and whipped out his sword, backing up to the wall and staring around wildly for a double-handful of seconds.

Nothing stirred. No poisonous barbs came his way, no evil miasma oozed up from the floor to melt the flesh from his bones. The silence, apart from his labored breathing, was absolute.

Holding the pose for another quarter-minute as he strained every faculty to determine whether or not he was alone, his eyes eventually strayed back to the paralyzed guards. He noticed a small piece of parchment stuck to the front of Tal's tunic. There was writing on it.

At the moment, Lars trusted nothing and no one, but he was curious about the note. He took a few shuffling steps forward and squinted. The light wasn't very good, but he could make out, in a florid, flowing script, _Get your little Queen. She can fix him._

He jolted upright and all but sprinted up the stairs.

. . .

. . .

It was actually close to three quarters of an hour before Jørgen's runner found his way into Elsa's presence. She and Carlos were about halfway through making a circuit of the castle, setting up wards as they went. It wasn't as easy a task as it had been during the assault, primarily because the wards couldn't be anything LIKE as sensitive. That first time, when no one else was in the castle, anyone who crossed the wards would be the enemy. This time? Not so straightforward. The minds of people going about their everyday tasks tended to wander to a new topic every few seconds, and ill or frightening or irritated thoughts cropped up with distressing frequency. Elsa's first Dome had pinged her within four minutes of its creation, and their response had scared three years' growth out of one of Kai's under-butlers. Elsa ended up giving the poor man the day off with pay, and Carlos had a yeoman's job of getting her calmed back down. Since then, she'd had to experiment. A lot. And she still wasn't completely positive about how the wards would function. They weren't very good at distinguishing fine levels of variation.

The present problem, though, was more in the way of an annoyance, as Elsa stared at the group of immobile Arendellians. Jørgen's first response had been to send a couple of medics to examine the victims. As soon as they had touched the paralyzed men, they joined them. So did the dungeon Sergeant when he came in after another minute. He would later state, for the record, that he thought the men were faking it. So now there were **five** men stuck to each other, standing in various poses in the hallway, with identical glassy stares.

Elsa crossed her arms, basically pouting._ [[ Morana has a sick sense of humor. ]]_

_[[ Yeah, well. She's Fey. That's sort of their specialty. ]] _Carlos shot her a sideways glance. _[[ And you'll get no argument from me. ]]_

_[[ Thanks just loads. ]]_

He gave a dry chuckle._ [[ So what's the plan? ]]_

_[[ I haven't a clue. Why would she think I can fix this? ]]_

_[[ I wouldn't know. Have you looked at them via the astral plane? You know you can examine any magical bonds on them that way. ]]_

Her head swiveled slowly around to face him, her expression a mask of exasperation. _[[ Why is it that I don't just automatically come up with an answer the way you do? Looking at them astrally is sort of the working definition of 'obvious', now that you've said it. ]]_

_[[ Practice? ]]_

"… Yeah, okay, I'll go with that. It salves my wounded pride."

Jørgen jerked a little. "Beg pardon, Your Majesty?"

"Um, sorry. Just, uh, woolgathering."

"Can you help them?"

"We'll find out." She quickly opened a window into that otherwhere and began examining the magic in the area.

Carlos joined her. _[[ Huh. Looks like a ward. ]]_

_[[ That it does, complete with aetheric trip lines. ]] _She traced out the various paths of the mystic threads that wrapped around each man, pointing to a spot where they all seemed to converge. _[[ Is that … a key? ]]_

_[[ Looks like it. ]]_

_[[ … The key to the riddle? ]]_

_[[ Um … sure. ]]_

_[[ So she's into puns, too? ]]_

_[[ I wouldn't be a bit surprised. ]]_

_[[ Great. I'm going to see if I can dissolve it. ]]_

_[[ Go for it. I don't have a better idea, and doing it that way should have a lower chance of hurting anyone. ]]_

Elsa wove some of the aether into a pincer with long handles, then imbued the tips with a large amount of magical potential. Positioning the device around the key, she bore down …

One of the medics and Berk fell over when the paralysis lifted, each man giving a startled yelp.

Returning to the Primary Plane, Elsa looked up at Carlos and remarked, "It's nice to get _**something**_ right on the first try."

He pulled her into his embrace and stroked her hair. "You're too hard on yourself."

After everyone had picked himself up and Jørgen determined that his men were essentially unharmed, the two Fey-touched took their leave, meandering until they came to the Main Square in front of the cathedral. "Why," Elsa wondered aloud, "do you suppose she did that? I mean, instead of just, oh, putting the guard in a light trance while she nicked Nicolai. Why make it into a trap?"

"Probably to see how you handled yourself. You ARE related, after all, and it's possible – yea, verily, LIKELY – that none of the other Fey-touched she's ever known has been as honest and upright and loving as you are. She's interested in you, whether she wants to admit it to herself or not."

Elsa fought down a blush and wrapped her hands around his left arm. "Oh, please."

_[[ You know I'm right. ]]_

_**{{ He is, you know. }}**_

They both pulled up short. Elsa swallowed. _[[ Lady Morana? ]]_

_**{{ Your fire elemental certainly has a low opinion of the Fey. }}**_

Knowing what he did about Morana and her abilities, Carlos didn't bother with anything but the unvarnished, brutal truth. _[[ I have the weight of evidence on my side, wouldn't you say? ]]_

_**{{ Indeed. }}**_ And she phased into being in front of them, making both of them gasp. "Why are you walking?"

They eyed her with brief trepidation. She was dressed in what looked like a white, sleeveless tunic of fine silk, and a short kirtle in a dark green plaid pattern that left her legs visible from just above the knee. Her delicate feet were bare, and her lustrous black wealth of hair, caught behind her in a velvet ribbon of seafoam green, hung nearly to her knees. Elsa cleared her throat and asked, "As opposed to riding?"

"As opposed to flying. You seemed to enjoy it so much."

Carlos and Elsa traded glances. They'd observed that the foot traffic flowed seamlessly around them, and that no one appeared to notice them, or the breath-taking creature they were speaking to. "Well … since normal humans don't fly, we, ah, didn't want to startle the people," she explained.

"Startle? Or disturb?"

"… What do you …"

"You know how humans react to things that are … different." She leaned toward Elsa. "You have first-hand knowledge of the hate that some of them show to those who violate the norm. Or have you already forgotten about that lovely Churchman who sicced his assassins on you?"

This time her blush wouldn't be denied.

Carlos offered, "You make a valid point. However, I think the people of Arendelle will adjust to a flying Queen at least as well as they have to one who wields ice magic. That being said, we didn't want to rush things." He pulled Elsa close to his side. "We're still adjusting to it ourselves."

Morana crossed her arms and ran a finger along her chin. "Perhaps."

"Is there something we can do for you, My Lady?" asked Elsa in a rather smaller voice than she'd intended.

The Fey allowed a tiny smirk to grace her features briefly. "You already are." And she vanished.

The couple drew a long breath, glanced at each other, and giggled. "I can't see myself ever getting used to that!" declared Elsa.

"No. Nor should you. She's as dangerous as she wants to be."

"Or as helpful."

He gave her a raised eyebrow. "Helpful? How?"

"She warned me about this 'test' thing."

"Hmm."

"You don't seem convinced."

After thinking it over for a moment, he shrugged. "We'll see. It can't hurt to be prepared for … any eventuality." They began walking again as he continued, "To which end I think we should get back to setting up those wards."

"Agreed."

. . .

. . .

_11:20am_

Someone once described war as long periods of boredom punctuated by brief episodes of sheer terror. As anyone who has ever stood guard duty in times of relative peace will tell you, the 'boredom' part is all but permanent, a long, tedious waiting game of 'just in case'. The overwhelming majority of a guard's time is spent doing exactly nothing. He has a place to stand; he has a direction to look; he has a watch to complete; then he has a few beers to drink to distract him from just how mind-numbing such duty is.

If a guard is lucky enough to get a post somewhere that sees a little foot traffic, he might get a few snatches of conversation now and then as the villagers and tradesmen and servants (and the occasional royal, this being Arendelle) go about their daily tasks. But if the rotation of one's post happened to fall to lookout duty, that hope of human contact was strictly fantasy for the long hours of the watch. And one of the least-coveted lookout positions was the third guard tower on the north stretch of the city wall. It wasn't close to anything. Because of a rocky outcrop, no paths went past it. No houses were built within shouting distance. It was, however, in a direct line-of-sight with the Watch headquarters, and it was that guard's responsibility to watch for signals from the far end of the fjord.

A plum assignment, it was not, and the men would frequently gamble to see who would get stuck with the job. Captain Fjelstad didn't mind, as long as the same man didn't get the post more than three times in any given week. He figured that any man who was _that_ bad a gambler, and still insisted on playing, deserved three rotations, but that more than that might engender resentment and that wouldn't be good for morale. Sammel Torlofsson was just such a lousy card player, which was how he got the forenoon watch today.

Sammel was leaning against the dressed stone of the watch tower, glad of the shade. He had only forty minutes left on the watch and kept checking the large clock in the corner of the tiny room. He was as sure as sure could be that he could win back that guard position at the docks. That blasted Lars thought he was so blasted smart …

A glint from the west caught his attention. Quickly he snatched up the small telescope and focused it on the signal tower at the extreme far end of the fjord.

_Three long blinks … two short blinks … three long blinks … two short blinks … _

"Hot damn, the fleet's on the way back!" That message meant that the whole fleet was present, no casualties, which also meant that his favorite brother was returning unscathed, and his mother could stop worrying. He quickly picked out the large blue and white flag acknowledging the message and ran it up the flagpole. Then he rang the big bell that hung from the rafters, letting it swing back and forth six times before stopping it. Shortly an answering ring came from down below.

Satisfied, Sammel turned his attention back to the clock: seventeen minutes left. Rolf had damn well better not be late.

. . .

. . .

_1:40pm_

As soon as the news reached Captain Fjelstad's ears that the fleet – and thus his superior officer – was on the way to Arendelle, he dispatched a squad in a small boat to meet them. They would deliver a message he had already prepared, a message that he knew would shock the Admiral to his core. He wasn't wrong.

Now, flanked by four of his subordinates, Admiral Mikael Naismith strode up the causeway toward the castle, his mind a whirl of plans, questions, and contradictory information.

_Leave this place alone for two weeks and everything goes straight to Hell._ While it was true that there was no way anyone could have predicted the assassination attempt, Mikael still castigated himself. It hadn't been necessarily _critical_ that he be with the Navy while they hunted down pirates and protected the fishing fleet … but to be brutally honest, he missed being out of sight of land, feeling the buck and brace of the deck under his feet. And it had been a good chance to put his Marines through a shakedown, and his men needed his presence as a symbol, and …

… And all of that was bilge water. He had shirked his duty to his Sovereign, and the assurances that Jørgen had given him fifteen days ago seemed thin and pale in the harsh light of current reality. According to the Watch Captain's letter, if it hadn't been for the actions of one VERY peculiar individual, Arendelle would be minus one Queen. That knowledge chilled the Admiral much more effectively than Elsa's magic ever had. He could only imagine how the Captain felt about it, having witnessed these late events. The man was economical with his words in official transcripts. Laconic to a fault. So none of the emotion that man had to have been feeling leaked through. That would be an interesting meeting later this afternoon.

Kai met him as soon as he entered the gate, and conducted him to the Queen's study. On the way, one of his men peeled off in the direction of the Watch headquarters, and two headed for a meeting with three of Elsa's Councilors. Mikael and the last man, a Lieutenant Johansson, strode up to the pair of guards outside her door, both of whom saluted smartly. One of them opened the door and ushered them in.

The Admiral stopped three steps in and studied the tableau. Elsa sat on the loveseat near the wall across from her desk. Anna sat next to her, holding the Queen's right hand in both of hers. Behind the loveseat, hovering protectively over the blonde, stood a tall, swarthy man. They locked eyes.

Mikael offered, "You must be Señor de la Maria."

"I suppose I must, then."

A suddenly-smiling Elsa said, "Mikael, I'm so glad you're back!"

The Princess jumped up and hugged him, kicking her legs up behind her. "Mikky, do we ever have some stories for you!"

"So I understand." He had given up many years ago trying to get her to drop that nickname. "Captain Fjelstad was good enough to send me a summary while the _Elsa_ was still just in sight of the fjord mouth."

The Queen nodded. "Yes, I helped him draft it."

Mikael placed Anna back on the floor and stepped over to take Elsa's hand. "My Queen, I fear there is no apology that could ever be formulated that could adequately express my mortification at what almost happened to you. I would tender my resignation if …"

"Please, Mikael, don't be ridiculous." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "There was nothing anyone could have done."

The Admiral's eyes flicked toward Carlos. "Apart from the good _hidalgo_, here, it seems."

"Yes, well, he is what you might call an exception to most rules."

"So it's true? You and he are both descendants of the Fey?"

"Yes." She swallowed. "And before you ask, we are absolutely positive. I have, in fact, MET my Faerie progenitor."

"… Personally?"

"Yes. Most recently, just a few hours ago."

"What, here? In Arendelle?"

"Yes, in the Market. And in my chambers last night. She comes and goes as she likes. There's certainly nothing WE can do about it."

Carlos added, "And she seems to have taken an interest in Elsa's doings."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I've heard numerous tales of the Fey. They are not to be trifled with."

"How true," agreed Elsa. "And, to answer your question, I don't know yet. I suppose time will tell."

Mikael thought furiously for a few moments, finally shrugging. "If there's nothing to be done about it, worry is useless." He caught Elsa's eye. "And that blackguard Westergaard is still at large?"

"Hans? Yes, unfortunately. At least, his body hasn't been recovered. We are fairly sure that the assassins only wanted him for his information about the castle and our routines. They may have killed him out of hand. Or he may have gotten free. We just don't know." She reached up and twined her fingers with Carlos's. "We are taking precautions in any case."

The Admiral eyed their joined hands. "The Captain also mentioned a … relationship."

"Yes," she answered very simply.

"This is … most sudden."

"It is. However, it is also most real."

Carlos added, "And permanent."

Addressing the Spaniard, Mikael said, "There were several points in the Captain's missive that would have encouraged me to put a less well-grounded man under lock and key. He says that you, sir, are some two and a half centuries old."

"Correct."

"And you have bona fides for this claim?"

Musing over the question for a couple of breaths, Carlos answered, "None that would hold up in court. In order to maintain control of my estates, it has periodically been necessary to arrange my own death, in a purely legal sense. However …" and here he raised a hand and slowly conjured a ball of fire in his palm. "… I think my other bona fides will do to establish my link to the Fey."

Unblinking, the old seaman watched the dance of the flame until Carlos closed his fist over it. He whispered, "Fascinating."

"Mikael," said Elsa, "please believe me. There can be no doubt of his veracity, or of our love."

Anna let slip a small _'squeeeee'_ and grabbed the Admiral's sleeve. "Aren't they just FATALLY cute?!"

"Um … sure."

The two Fey-touched sought each other's eyes, and to the Admiral it seemed some sort of signal passed between them. Elsa said, "Lieutenant, would you mind stepping outside for a few minutes? We need to discuss state secrets."

The Lieutenant bowed and marched out. When the door had clicked shut, Elsa looked at Mikael. Dropping her voice, she said, "One of the things that I have learned over the past few days – actually one of the things that my … um, that Morana mentioned – is that there is a very great deal more to my magic than just ice."

"Morana?"

"My, ah, antecedent. The Fey who is responsible for my powers."

"Oh." He absorbed that. "So what might all that entail?"

"We don't know the full extent of it yet." She stared at him. _[[ But one outcome is that I have developed the capacity for communication via thoughts alone. ]]_

Mikael gasped and took a step back. Quickly composing himself, he glanced between the two.

Carlos sent, _[[ Yes, I taught her the basics. But Elsa is quite a bit more powerful than I could ever hope to be. ]]_

"Captain Fjelstad didn't say anything about that in his letter."

_[[ He doesn't know … yet. We're still thinking about that. ]]_

Glancing at Anna, who was grinning so widely her cheeks must have hurt, Mikael sighed and said, "State secret. I see. Yes, that is a decidedly powerful card to keep hidden. If you don't mind my asking, what is your range?"

"We don't know yet," answered Elsa, "but it's at least half a league."

The Admiral was relieved that she chose to return to using voice. The mental contact was … unsettling. "That is astounding."

"And that's only one facet. We can also fly." Giving Carlos a wry look, she added, "Well, I can fly if I'm in physical contact with Carlos. He can fly by himself."

"Truly?"

The Spaniard rose and floated over the loveseat, touching down beside Mikael. "Truly. And my fire-based talents have been vastly enhanced. We conducted one experiment that was … um, quite a bit more volatile than either of us had imagined."

Mikael's raised eyebrow prompted Elsa to add, "He made a volcano."

"… A volcano."

"Yes. But it was a small one. I was able to freeze it shut." She giggled. "After a few tries."

"A volcano. Dear Lord."

"And," continued Elsa, "there are other abilities we've found, abilities that frankly disturbed the both of us. At this time I would like to keep them undiscovered as far as the general populace is concerned."

"Dear Lord," he repeated. The military implications were multiplying in his head by the second. It threatened to make him dizzy. "I assume that doesn't apply to your talent for placing magical traps. That does seem to be common knowledge of a sort, according to Captain Fjelstad."

"Right," answered Carlos. "For the things that some of her subjec- pardon me, _citizens_ have already witnessed, it would be rather silly to deny."

Mikael nodded absently, staring off into the distance. Presently he said, "This is quite a lot to take in."

"I realize that. And please," answered Elsa, "take all the time you need. I certainly understand."

"Thank you." He paced slowly back and forth for a minute or so before continuing, "The fact that you can produce any quantity of snow or ice is common knowledge in Arendelle and its near environs, and among the crews of the various vessels that dock here. However, with distance, the tales grow quite fantastic."

Elsa was puzzled. "When did you hear …"

"Spies, Majesty, disguised as ordinary seamen in several navies. I have a very effective network."

"Ah. Right. I knew that."

"Just so." He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "Most of Europe is content to believe the stories to be complete fabrications, and assign you a place among the dragons and wind gods along the edges of the map."

A muted chortle sounded from the Spaniard at that mental image.

"Quite. Nevertheless, enough good information leaked through to the wrong people, and so we are left with this situation regarding _that_ _Cardinal_." The last two words were practically spat.

Carlos, his brow drawing down into a rather intimidating line, held up a finger. "I'll be taking care of that problem as soon as we are past this next crisis."

Mikael gave him a look. "Crisis?"

"Yes," said Elsa, "and that's something that didn't go into that letter." She indicated a nearby chair. "Please have a seat. This will take some time."

. . .

. . .

_5:20pm_

The day's light was fading, dimmed further by a heavy overcast, producing a deep gloom in the abandoned stable. But Hans, crouched low over the _Handbook of Arcane Poisons_, didn't notice the lack. His eyes were currently producing their own light, and it was plenty for him to read by.

Hans, as a Prince of the Southern Isles, had been given a very well-rounded education. This included languages, thus his fluency in several, including Russian. After the disappearance of the remaining assassins, he had their headquarters to himself. He made good use of the time … or so he thought. He rummaged through all the letters and journals and notes and other writings left behind, coming finally upon Gregor Yeshchenko's personal effects. This would turn out to be unfortunate for everyone involved.

Gregor, the _Handbook's_ previous owner, had only used two of the poisons listed therein … because those two were the only ones, out of close to half a hundred in the book, that didn't involve imminent peril to his soul. Gregor had learned at the feet of one of the true masters of the art, and always took the needed precautions. He _always_ had the holy relics in place, _always_ wore the rune-blazoned gloves, _always_ made sure to drink the protective potions prior to touching the book, and _always_ made sure to have it sitting in the right kind of thaumaturgic circle while it was open. He had no wish to meet any of the book's inhabitants. Ever.

Hans did none of those things. He had unearthed the ancient tome, having broken through three sturdy locks to get to it, because he wanted to make damned sure that the _next_ time someone close to Elsa got poisoned, it would be utterly, finally fatal. No fancy tricks would save them. He would be sure. And after reading through the bulk of the recipes, he was positive.

Lovingly now he caressed the pages, ran fingertips over the cover's smooth leather, marveling at how warm and soft it was, despite its great age. He didn't stop to wonder how he could read the words, though they were written in a language that had been dead long before the rise of the Pharaohs in Egypt. Hans didn't understand magic, didn't comprehend the danger inherent in dealing, even tangentially, with demons. He may not have cared, being more than a few cobbles shy of a road.

As he sat there, hunched, holding the book to his breast as if it were a newborn babe, he thought over the remaining ingredients he would require. Only one would be tricky, but he believed he could acquire it without too much difficulty. The orphanage wasn't even half an hour's walk from where he sat, and as he'd learned once from Anna, it was understaffed most of the time.

The glint in his eyes took on a reddish hue as he rose to begin preparations.

. . .

. . .

_(End Note: I would appreciate a comment or two outlining your reaction to these events. I'm curious to know whether it bothered you as much as it did me.)_


	27. Contention

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: My original plan had been to include some information from CrunchDeNumbers's story "Magic Makes Fools" concerning Elsa's new defensive strategies. However, it just got too darn long, so that part will have to wait for next time. Enjoy!**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 26: Contention**

. . .

. . .

_Friday 30 July 1841, 6:44am_

Dawn's overlight had made things somewhat visible for over an hour and a half. However, only eleven minutes had passed since the top rim of the sun peeked through Avalanche Pass between Wodan's Horn and Mount Treyborg, flooding the castle's upper levels with warm light. Yesterday evening's heavy cloud cover had blown past during the night, and this morning promised an unbroken bowl of brightest blue. However, Carlos, being still asleep, didn't know any of that yet.

They'd had a VERY late night, talking with the Admiral. It seemed there was hardly a subject that could be broached that didn't devolve into a military discussion, hardly a facet of the Queen's new range of power that didn't have serious international repercussions. Mikael (and Carlos, to a small extent … he didn't, after all, want to step on the Admiral's toes) had schooled Elsa on the utterly unprecedented effects all of this would have on their relations with the rest of the nation-states of the world. As he put it rather vehemently, "If you can just show up, hovering over Paris, and start throwing down bolts of lightning like the Hammer of God, you can bet your last kroner Louis Philippe WILL try to do something about it. I don't think you could battle the entire French Army." (Carlos disagreed, but kept his own council on THAT issue.)

She was in quite a unique position, since one of the Fey-touched had never before been a recognized head of state. Carlos, a minor peer of an unimportant region, was almost unknown outside of Andalusia. Hamaraja, by his own volition, was a recluse, a hermit who devoted himself to his studies. He had little knowledge of (and even less interest in) world politics. Similarly, the Wise Woman of Madagasikara had never been off the island, which she considered to be hers, and for that Carlos was more than grateful. She had truly frightening levels of power, being able to move vast weights with her mind and give life and motion to inanimate objects, and she had little consideration for the needs of anyone apart from the local inhabitants. He'd counted himself lucky to be allowed to leave her domain with all his original equipment more or less intact.

Arendelle's land area was relatively small (just a shade larger than Luxembourg, and much of that was rugged mountains), its population relatively low and its location remote. Even taking that into account, there would be other ruling bodies – likely many – that would view Elsa as a threat, and would take steps to pull her teeth, as it were. Mikael deduced that Arendelle's historically neutral position with regards to the rest of Europe was no longer an option. His recommendations ultimately centered around securing as many treaties of mutual military support as could be devised … and doing so as soon as was feasible. Elsa planned to take that up with the Council at her earliest opportunity, preferably the next morning. Of course, it _**being**_ the early hours of the morning by the time they called it quits, she certainly wouldn't be gathering her advisors at the crack of dawn. Suppressing her yawns was becoming impossible.

Eyes at half-mast, she'd leaned on Carlos's arm all the way to her room, then melted into his embrace against her door. He gladly held her up. "You look exhausted."

"Mm-hmm."

"Not that you need to enhance your already-blinding beauty, but it's definitely time for bed."

"So true." She turned that thousand-kilowatt smile on him. "Stay with me?"

_Oh! By the Saints!_ He shuddered at the way her body snuggled back up against him, how her head fit perfectly just under his chin! As she moved closer, her subtle scent wafted up to his nose: juniper and falling snow … the cold, clean, stillness of an evergreen forest in starlight, with just the faintest tang of mint. It fair took his breath, and his arms tightened around her (carefully, carefully … she is young, and tender, and easily bruised).

He took a long breath … then another … then, finally organizing his thoughts and schooling his face, he pulled away just far enough to give her a dubious look. "After last night? I hardly think …"

"We're both in regular clothes," she observed, plucking at the fine linen of his shirt. "They aren't going to melt." Leaning against him again, she continued, "I just … feel better. When you're close. Close enough to touch."

_No mortal should ever have to refuse such a request!_ He cleared his throat. "Close is one thing. Sleeping together is …"

"Perfectly innocent. Necessary, even."

"And you're still assuming I can resist you, and that, my Dear One, is as shaky an assumption as they come. I'm not infallible, you know."

"Hey, I'll be sure to fight you off if it comes to that." The twinkle in her eye belied that statement.

"Indeed. Why do I not believe you?"

"You doubt your Queen's word?"

"I doubt her intentions. Or rather, I don't. At all."

"Spoil-sport."

_[[ My darling, my room is not that far from here. I can be at your door in eight or ten seconds. All you need do is drop a thought into my mind. ]]_

She blinked at him solemnly for a moment, then pulled him down into a long, heartfelt kiss. _[[ I'm holding you to that. ]]_

A nod showed his consent._ [[ Good. ]]_

_[[ In the morning, then? ]]_

_[[ In the morning. ]]_

_[[ Sweet dreams. ]]_

He chuckled. _[[ They are bound to be. You're in every one. ]]_

She kissed him again, then pushed him down the hall in the direction of his suite.

That was barely three hours ago, but that was usually enough for Carlos; the older he got, it seemed, the less sleep he required in an ordinary night. (This didn't surprise him. If the tales held any credence, the Wise Woman never slept at all.) He wasn't so deeply asleep now that the narrow shaft of light filtering through his curtain didn't get his attention. He cracked one eye open a slit, slamming it back shut in protest. _Why is my room on the eastern side of the castle? I'd sleep just as well in the stable, and wouldn't have to worry about the stupid light waking me up._ Slowly, in jerks and pulls, he rolled over …

… and bumped into someone.

_Okay, NOT asleep!_

He focused on the top of a pale blonde head and blew an exasperated sigh. "Elsa?"

A fuzzy mutter was all the response he got. That, and her small hand getting a loose grip on the front of his shirt.

"Elsa, why are you in my bed?"

"… hmm … zzz? … zuh bed?"

"You're in my room. In my bed. Not that this hasn't become one of my chief fantasies over the last few days, but we did agree. Or I thought we did. It's not exactly safe."

"Jus' … fi' more … minutes." She snuggled more securely into him, one bare leg scooting up to cover his, her perfect toes idly scuffing up and down his shin. One hand slipped between his shirt buttons to rest soft, soft fingertips on the suddenly-flushed skin of his chest.

His points-south reaction was to be expected, and trying to ignore it didn't help. With a frustrated groan, he hissed, "Elsa! You have to wake up!"

"Mm…. Nice … dream."

"No argument there." He reached up and lightly scratched the top of her head, eliciting a long, breathy purr. "Now: wake up."

Turning her face his way (and that sleepy, tousled smile took him straight from wood to granite) she mumbled, "Need more dreams like this." Then her eyes slowly blinked open. She gave a slight frown. "Carlos?"

"At your service."

"Why are you in my bed?"

"That was _my_ question."

She raised herself on one elbow and gazed around, then looked straight back at him. "I repeat: why are you in my bed?"

His frown of consternation grew as he got his first good look at the ceiling, and finally absorbed the fact that he was, indeed, in her room. "How'd I get here?"

"An excellent question." She leaned into him, laying her head on his shoulder. "Not that I mind, you understand."

"You're completely unclothed, aren't you?"

"What, you haven't looked?" she teased in a complacent drawl.

"No. I dare not."

"Well … you weren't going to be sleeping with me. I had no _reason_ to wear anything." Toying with one of the buttons on his shirt, she observed, "And you're still dressed. You were wearing this last night."

"I did mention, I believe, that I would be at your disposal. I didn't want to show up naked if you were in distress."

She dimpled. "My hero."

"As if."

Her leg moved up, bumping into him the same way it happened before. That caused her eyes to widen, but she didn't shriek and leap off the bed as she'd done the first time. Instead, she got very still for a few seconds, then let her line of sight drop to trace his outline through his pants. She tensed, swallowed, and jerked her face up to meet his gaze again. "Whoa."

"Yes?"

She cleared her throat, not looking at him. "Are … are you … um …"

"Am I what?"

"Um … average?"

He knew exactly what she meant and gave a wry chuckle. "I REALLY don't have a lot of information for comparison. Why do you ask?"

Her face flamed. "Um … it's, uh … kind of … and I'm, uh, well …"

"You're adorable when you're flustered. And naked. But then, you're adorable all the time."

"Ohhhh! Get serious!"

"So what's your question?"

"… I thought I understood the … the mechanics of … of …"

"Procreation?"

"… Sure. We'll go with that."

"Do you have any idea how awkward it is to have this conversation while you are lying beside me without a stitch on?"

"I think I might."

"Then maybe I should leave so you can get dressed."

She pulled her leg back, concentrated briefly, and was shortly wearing a demure ice-dress. "There."

"That is a MIGHTY handy trick."

"Problem solved?"

"In some respects."

"So, back to my question."

"I'm still not entirely sure what your question is."

"How … how in the world is … is all THAT supposed to … um … fit?"

"In the first place it probably won't the first few times. As with any skill, it will take some practice."

Her blush was back, full-force.

"In the second, you have a lot more, ah, potential space than you know."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Promise."

Studying the threads in his collar for a bit, she finally said, "But the first time hurts, though. That's what it said in my books."

"Only if you insist."

"Huh?"

"In the art of love-making – and it IS an art – pain is optional."

"But … but everything I read said that breaching the … the maidenhead …" Her face was so brightly flushed by that point he could have used it to read by. "… that it was painful. Sometimes very much so. Mama told me. There was … she, um … she bled."

"When – well, when both participants are novices – that is the usual outcome, yes. Or if the man involved is an insensitive jerk. But pain is neither necessary nor desirable, and I PROMISE you that I will not hurt you."

She hid her face in his chest. "Okay."

"Now back to MY question. How'd I get here?"

"As if I would have a clue," was mumbled into his shirt.

"Don't you lock your door? And isn't there a guard?"

"No to the first question, yes to the second. Two, in fact. And the door is unlocked because they have to be able to get inside in an emergency."

"So how did I get past them? And why don't I remember?"

"You'd know better than I. I was asleep." She raised up again and looked around. "Ah-ha!"

He followed her gaze. The large window was open.

"I bet you flew in here."

"In my sleep?"

"You have a better idea?"

"… Not really."

"So you see, then! You DID want to sleep with me."

"I never said I didn't. What I said was that I didn't think it was safe. And I don't."

"Obviously it is." She drummed her fingers lightly on his chest. "Nothing happened."

"Yet." He caught her hand in his. "But you are _still_ my equal – nay, my better – in practically every way that counts at all. You are _still_ as generous and kind and loving and basically admirable as anyone I've ever even HEARD of. You are_ still_ the most stunningly gorgeous creature I've ever seen." He placed a light kiss on the top of her hand. "And I am _still_ hopelessly, desperately in love with you. That is at once the reason why I want so badly to _make_ love with you, and the reason I have yet to _do_ so." Turning her hand over, he slowly and carefully kissed her palm, then closed her fingers over it. "And that's why I have to leave now."

Her breath had caught at the first kiss; the second made her dizzy. She could only squeak out, "Oh … well … all right."

He rose and floated over to the window, glanced out and down to make sure he wouldn't be observed, looked back at her long enough to give her a wink, and zipped out.

. . .

. . .

Elsa's emergency conference with the Council (she had a quorum of eight of the twelve members) began at nine o'clock. She explained about her Fey heritage, got them up to speed, complete with demonstrations, on _**some**_ of what she and Carlos could do now, and on Admiral Naismith's recommendations. That sparked a couple of heated debates. Two of the Council wanted to keep everything as secret as possible, and maintain neutrality at all costs. Four of them favored Mikael's plan, and two of those wanted to go after the treaties very aggressively. The Minister of Education couldn't make up his mind, and abstained from every vote that was put forth.

Around ten that morning, Juan had located Carlos at the palace stables and informed him of his intention to purchase living quarters. A few moments' reflection led the Spaniard to the conclusion that the old man could do a lot worse. At least with Elsa on the throne, the winters would be mild. "But you should be aware that the Queen and I will be involved in a large number of diplomatic missions over the next … well, certainly a year, maybe two. Maybe for the foreseeable future."

"And? Surely you won't need ME along, not after the power boost you two got."

"No, that's not my point. I'm concerned that you'll get bored. This is a pretty, ah, _placid_ kingdom, to employ a euphemism. Eh. Most of the time. This last week was a rather profound exception to the rule."

"Hey, if I get itchy feet, I'll travel; and I for _sure_ know how to do that. You weren't the only one making sound investments this last quarter-century."

"I know … I, uh … hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just … new and different."

Juan elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "You're gonna miss me! That's so cute!"

"… Shut up."

"Hey, why don't you come look at a couple places with me?"

"What, right now?"

"They aren't far."

Carlos tossed the idea around and shrugged. "Hang on a second." He closed his eyes and concentrated. _[[ Dear One? ]]_

It took Elsa a moment to respond. _[[ Carlos! Well. I wasn't expecting you. ]]_

_[[ How goes the battle? ]]_

_[[ Better than I'd hoped. They're all excited about the possibilities. Now they just have to come to some kind of consensus on what to do about me. ]]_

_[[ … What does THAT mean, 'do about you'? ]]_

_[[ Diplomatic situations. Handling introductions, responding to the threats we all know are going to come. They will come, you know. We discussed some of that last night. ]]_

_[[ I remember. ]]_

_[[ They need to prepare for the onslaught. ]]_

_[[ You make that sound ominous. ]]_

He got the mental version of a raspberry._ [[ It's just details. Don't sweat it. ]]_

_[[ So you'll be a while yet? ]]_

_[[ A good hour at least. ]]_

_[[ Okay, then. Juan wanted to show me a house he's interested in. ]]_

_[[ Have fun. ]]_

_[[ It would be more fun with you on my arm. ]]_

_[[ Don't I know it. But one does what one must. I need to concentrate on the current debate. We'll get together later. ]]_

_[[ Yes. We will. ]] _He broke the connection, looked at Juan, and said, "Yeah, sure."

Juan was correct: they didn't walk far. Carlos stood with his arms akimbo, staring up at the narrow building. He could just see the northeast corner of the castle past the roof. "Well you certainly won't have to worry about anyone stopping by to play polo in the foyer."

"I don't need much room." The gray-bearded man gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I don't have a lot of stuff. That's why I was looking for a furnished place."

"What do they want for it?"

"A hundred and twenty-five kroner."

Carlos gave him an incredulous stare. "Seriously? That's all?" Looking again at the place, he said, "I'd have thought five times that at least."

"It's got a reputation."

"… Oh?"

"It was owned by a burglar. One of his marks tracked him down here and killed him."

"Eh." Carlos gave that bit of news a dismissive wave. "That's nothing."

"Hey, _I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but the locals are kinda superstitious."

"Your good fortune, then."

"That's how I'd position it."

"What's the inside like?"

"A lot like the outside."

"… Ehn."

Juan grinned. "We can't all live in a palace."

"You know you'd be welcome."

He waved that off. "Not my style. You're gonna be half of a couple, and I don't want to feel like an extra wheel."

"Hey, no pressure. Just please know that it's your decision where you want to live."

"I know."

"So let's see that other place."

. . .

. . .

_11:50am_

Elsa's Council did manage to hammer out a solid preliminary plan by a quarter of noon, and adjourned for the midday meal. Carlos was waiting on her outside the Council Chamber, and with a melodramatic wrist to her forehead she fell over into his arms. "Feed me!"

"Long morning?"

"I hate debates. Always have, and I can't see my opinion changing any time soon. Anyway, you weren't there, but I had a flurry of … _stuff_ hit right as I was heading to breakfast, and all I got was three cups of tea near the start of the meeting, and if you don't get me in front of something edible in about a minute, I'm going to start gnawing on the nearest available limb."

A page bustled up at that point with an envelope on a tray. "Your Majesty."

She gave him a baleful eye, under which he quailed. "Unless there's something to eat in that thing …"

"Princess Anna!" he squeaked. "She gave me this to give you as soon as your meeting was over."

"Oh." Relaxing noticeably, Elsa took the envelope. "Thank you." Holding the missive in one hand, she used the other to steer Carlos down the hall. "I was serious about chewing on your arm. I've got to have something in my stomach before anything else gets done."

"No argument here."

. . .

. . .

_12:20pm_

Elsa leaned back in her chair with a sigh, then held a fist over her mouth to disguise a small burp. "I beg your pardon."

Carlos just chuckled at her, polishing off a last rasher of bacon. "You earned that burp, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I _was_ rather hungry."

"So are you now full enough to read Anna's note?"

"Oh!" She reached into her reticule and pulled out the envelope. "Forgot all about it. Where is my mind?" She tore it open and pulled out one sheet of paper as Carlos watched. Her eyes got large … then a tear worked its slow way down her cheek.

Carlos was beside her in an instant. "What is it? Is she all right?"

Elsa nodded, then swallowed. Then she took a sip of cider and wiped at her face. "I'm sorry. I just … I forgot."

"… Forgot what?"

"The funeral. It's today. At three."

_Ah. This explains much._ He had not seen the nine bodies lying in state and chilled to prevent the stench, but Elsa had told him about them. "And the fleet got back yesterday."

She nodded again. They were quiet as the moments stretched out. She reached for his hand. He swept her up, sat down in her place, and parked her on his lap. Gratefully, she leaned against him. A sniffle preceded, "I'm a bad Queen."

"What?!"

"I'd … forgotten about the funeral." More sniffles. "I need to be there."

He mulled that over and asked, "Do you need to be in some kind of state regalia?"

"I will be wearing black." She looked up at him, raised a (very slightly trembling) hand to his face, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I should start getting ready. I can't just … whip up an ice dress in black. It doesn't work that way."

"May I carry you to your rooms?"

"… Mm-hmm."

. . .

. . .

_5:40pm_

Though a lowering cloud front had moved in by the time the funeral started, the rain, thankfully, never materialized. Elsa was an emotional wreck after the service. Anna wasn't much better. Each knew instinctively that the other needed her, and it was with tacit agreement that they adjourned to Anna's room. Anna's maid, a likely girl by the name of Stella, had anticipated this state of affairs and had a platter waiting on them. It held a variety of chocolates, a small bowl of grapes, another of strawberries, and several thin pieces of honeyed shortbread. A decanter of sweet, diluted wine sat beside it.

A few mostly-silent minutes later, Anna wiped her mouth with a tea-towel and leaned against her headboard. "I'm giving that girl a raise."

"I concur."

Anna gave her sister a penetrating look. "I realize we've had this conversation before, but Elsa, it's not …"

"Not my fault. I know." She gave a short nod. "I know that. But Anna … did you see? Did you see his face?"

Thinking for a moment, she said, "Mr. Eberhard?"

"… Yes."

Anna stared at the quilt on her bed. "Olivia was still too weak to get out of bed."

"I don't know how anyone ever … it's just so … horrible."

"Yeah. As hard as it is to … to lose … your parents, I think it'd be so much worse to have to b-bury a child." She leaned over onto Elsa. The blonde put an arm around her shoulders. "Harald was such a nice boy. I just can't even …"

"Me, either."

"Elise told me about how excited Mr. Eberhard was when they landed yesterday."

Elsa cocked an eyebrow. "Elise?"

"Sorry. Harbormaster's daughter."

"Oh, right. Her. I didn't … well … it doesn't matter." Her red-rimmed eyes met Anna's. "He was excited, you say?"

"Yeah. His crew found out what their bonuses were going to be when they dropped their cargos at the drying houses. He couldn't wait to run up to his … his family and tell them the … good news." She scrubbed furiously at her face, and muttered, "Damn it."

Elsa hugged her hard. "Don't worry about your makeup. It's just us."

It got quiet again for a while, and they simply reclined on the bed, holding each other.

Anna broke the silence. "I'm getting married day after tomorrow."

"Yes. I'm aware of that. The cathedral's a right beehive getting ready for it."

"I'm not in much of a marriage mood right now."

"That's understandable."

"This has been the week from Hell."

"No argument."

Turning her gorgeous teal eyes on her sister, Anna amended, "Except for parts of it concerning you and Carlos."

Elsa gave her a contented smile. "Yes. Except for that."

Anna rearranged the pillows and propped herself up before asking, "What's it like?"

"What?"

"Flying."

Elsa's smile tripled in intensity. The change of subject was a relief. _Bless you, Anna._ "I don't think my vocabulary is sufficient to describe how marvelous it feels."

"Try?"

"Heh. Okay." She frowned a bit and then cleared her throat. "After the, ah, incident at my coronation, when I ran off to North Mountain and built my ice palace, it was … unbelievably liberating. I was free of the constraints Papa had placed on me, for the first time in thirteen years. I was free to explore my powers. I could do it without fear of hurting you. Well, anybody, but specifically you. But the overall sense of freedom was just giddy."

"You've said some of that before."

"Hmm. Well, compared with that sense of freedom I had that first night," she said, staring into the far distance, "flying is … it's like going beyond the limits. _**Eradicating**_ the limits. It's … exhilarating. But calling it exhilarating is like … so inadequate. Every breath is a lifetime of excitement. Every motion, every loop brings new sensations you had no idea even existed. Your heart is so full, you can't believe you don't simply burst."

Anna breathed, "Wow."

"And still … that's not all. Not by a world."

"Aw, man!" She stuck her arms behind her head. "I wish I could do that!"

"Well … maybe you can."

Bolting upright, Anna whirled to face her sister. "What?!"

"Whoa, whoa, don't blow up. I don't know, but … well, we haven't tried to carry anything yet, but that might be possible. We'll have to try it and …"

"Now? Please? Can we do it now? Elsa, can we?"

"My word, Anna, slow down!"

"You can call Carlos, right? With your mind? Isn't that right?"

"… I can. He might be busy or …"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease!"

"Very well! My word, Anna, have you never heard of patience?"

"Patience? You mean you want me to WAIT? On a chance to FLY?! Are you serious?"

Elsa didn't reply. _[[ Carlos? ]]_

_[[ Darling! Is the funeral over? ]]_

_[[ Yes, for close to half an hour. Anna and I have been … recovering. ]]_

_[[ Right. I'm sorry you had to … well, I'm sorry that ARENDELLE had to go through that. Nasty business, assassinations. ]]_

Their mental connection wavered briefly in the wake of a huge bolt of lightning that was followed in about a second by a tremendous report. Elsa rose and went to the window. _[[ Hmm. It seems the reason for my call is now moot. ]]_

_[[ I'm not sure I follow. ]]_

_[[ Anna wanted to see if we could take her flying with us. ]]_

_[[ Ah. ]]_ There was a pause while Carlos surveyed the sky. _[[ That would be a bad idea. I've never been struck by lightning, and I'd like to keep that record intact. ]]_

_[[ Agreed. ]]_ She turned to her sister and said, "Unfortunately, the weather has decided the issue. We'll have to try it later."

"Crap."

Elsa crawled back onto the bed and pulled her into a hug. "Don't worry. It's just postponed. If this storm passes, maybe we can try a night flight."

"Oh, that would be AWESOME!"

. . .

. . .

_On the other side of the city …_

The three little girls were sisters. They all shared the same deep auburn hair of their mother. Olga was nine, Elsa was six, and Anna was five. Yes, the younger two had been named after the Princesses, back when they were both still Princesses. But tragedy never takes a day off, and tragedy had taken their parents in a fire two years back. That was how they had landed in the Arendelle Orphanage.

They were hardly unique. Almost two-score children called this building's high, drafty halls home, and only nine of them were there without a sibling. Still, they got on about as well as such a group could be expected to. There were friendships and rivalries, leaders and followers. The eldest, Erika, was about to turn sixteen, and would be leaving the orphanage soon. She had been angling for a scullery position at the castle for over a year, to no small degree on the strength of Anna's patronage. Anna had taken a strong interest in the institution shortly after the King and Queen perished at sea, understanding finally some of what they felt.

The youngest was Malachi, a tiny boy of maybe three whose mother had wandered into Arendelle back in the early spring, and died of unknown causes that same night against the back wall of the Red Lion tavern. The physician who examined her suspected consumption (or just plain starvation) and the boy had been quarantined for a month. But he showed no symptoms, and was soon introduced to Alma Briggitsdottir, the slight, intense woman who ran the orphanage.

Alma had married at seventeen. Her husband, six years her senior and a commercial fisherman, had spent two months with her after the wedding, then was promptly killed in a storm on his very next fishing trip. He had not blessed her with a child. In her grief, she looked to this old, under-funded Arendelle institution and saw a way she could make a difference. Running it had been her reason for living for the last fifteen years.

These were _**her**_ children, and she watched over them zealously. Anyone who wished to adopt one (or a set) had to meet her exacting criteria. She was not about to let one of her little ones end up in a work-house. She wanted better for them than that. So she made sure they got the basics of a decent education, and she carefully placed them, when old enough, in the sorts of apprenticeships she thought would do them the most good.

But thirty-seven children would run anyone into the ground, no matter how sweet-tempered most of them were (and a few of them were anything but). Occasionally someone would show up to volunteer to help, but it was never for very long, and rarely more than one at a time. So finally Alma, with Anna's blessing (and silver) had hired a couple of aides. Today it was Greta's turn to watch over the younger children, currently playing in the old cemetery adjacent to the building.

Greta, who had recently turned eighteen, wasn't exactly lazy. She just wasn't very high-energy, a fact that frequently irked Alma. Oh, the girl always managed to do what she was asked, but it would be done in a way that required the least effort. She preferred to think of herself as efficient. For example, she had located a spot atop a crumbling mausoleum from which she could spy out the whole cemetery without having to walk around among the children. It was that vantage point she occupied, and none other.

There are two other things that need to be known about Greta: she was more than somewhat superstitious, and she wasn't averse to a quick tumble in the hay now and then. In fact, she was planning to meet a beau tonight, once everyone was put to bed and quiet.

Yet another clap of thunder sounded, this one much louder than the last, and Greta gave the darkening sky a keen stare. "All right, kidlets, Mother Nature says it's time to wrap it up!"

There were perhaps twenty children peppered around among the sagging and broken tombstones, and they all looked up at her. They'd learned that she wasn't totally serious the first time she called them, and the fact that she didn't leave the top of the mausoleum proved it. They went back to their play.

* * *

_From the verge of the forest some fifteen paces away, Hans watched the group, never blinking. He caressed the Handbook absently, mumbling under his breath. A light fog sprang up around his feet._

* * *

Olga, who frankly was a bit more mature than Greta, got Elsa and Anna's attention and started them in the direction of the main building (she'd never been fond of storms). But then something caught her eye, a movement, a flash of color …

* * *

_Hans stepped up the cadence of the spell. The fog rolled silently, gently away, toward the children. Carefully, he followed, his pace stately and slow._

* * *

Greta got down off the lichen-covered stone and gave a sharp whistle. "Come on, children, this way." She motioned toward the big building and began walking that way at a march.

Olga focused on her sisters. "You two, go with Greta."

Taking her older sister's hand, Elsa said, "You come, too!"

"In a minute." Olga squatted down in front of the smaller girl. "I have to go look at something. I'll be along in a minute."

Elsa was a trusting child, and trusted Olga implicitly. She nodded, took Anna's hand, and skipped after Greta.

Olga watched them go, then shot a quick glance back toward the forest. She'd seen something. Turning that way, she took a step … another …

* * *

_The fog rose to about half a man-height and began to coalesce into a blocky shape. Hans turned his will on it, and bent over so it would obscure his outline, and stayed close._

* * *

A sharp intake of breath … a small hand lifted toward the ancient trees … Olga couldn't believe her eyes. _A white reindeer! A fawn, just like in the story!_ The sisters were Sami, and their mother had introduced them to their native myths practically from the cradle. And here, standing right here in front of her, was a living legend! She whispered, "I always knew you were real."

The elegant creature stepped toward her, its tiny hooves placed delicately in the ankle-high grass, its smooth black eyes steady on hers.

"Come on … come on." Olga glanced around, spotting a clump of sweet flowers a step to her left. Moving slowly and smoothly so as not to startle it, she reached down and pulled some, then held it out to the creature. "Come on …"

* * *

_She was almost within reach. He only needed one virgin to make the poison … well, really, he only needed her blood. He took another step … another … one more … two vaporous arms reached forward …_

* * *

The cemetery was surrounded on three sides by a stone foundation line. The rough-cut, dark gray granite slabs had originally stood up from the ground about a hand-span, but time had all but buried them. Only in a place or two could the actual stones be seen.

Nevertheless, they still marked the boundary of the property, the boundary of the old church-yard … the boundary of holy ground.

The demonic illusion, in the very act of reaching to catch Olga, stepped on the boundary line.

The illusion vanished.

The reality took its place.

Olga fell back on her rump, scrambled backward, crab-like, for a few paces, then jumped to her feet and ran as if Hell itself was after her, pulling air into her lungs for a shrill scream.

The divine magic of the blessed ground recognized the trespasser. It answered the invasion in kind.

The essence of the spell was banished utterly. The demonic shade that powered it burst into a tower of blue flame, uttered a soul-damning shriek, and fled back to the book.

Hans, deprived suddenly of his cover and unsure of what had happened, retreated quickly to the forest. The book in his hands grew warm, and began vibrating in agitation. "I'm sorry!" pleaded Hans. "I didn't know! I'm sorry!" He hunkered down behind the bole of a huge oak.

It was a frantic minute or so while Olga tried to explain to Greta what she had seen. When the older girl finally understood, the hair stood up down both her arms. _Vætter_, she thought, remembering tales of the evils spirits lurking about in the forest. _I know how to fix that!_ She quickly got everyone inside, and headed for the dormitory. Then she stepped into a closet, took off her shift, turned it inside out, and put it back on. A quick stop by the kitchen netted her an iron knife and a silver ladle. Thus armed and confident, she traipsed out to the cemetery.

Hans, meanwhile, had to place the Handbook on the ground. It had become too hot to touch, and the anger of its inhabitant was seeping out in faintly-glowing red tendrils. He heard a few small noises and chanced a glance around the tree: one of the girls was coming back! What luck!

Greta eyed the forest with some trepidation, holding the knife and ladle in front of her to form a cross. All she had to do to banish the wicked sprite was touch it with the knife. They hated iron. And the silver would prevent its illusions from working. She just had to find it … or lure it out into the open.

The forest was near now, near enough to give her pause. She didn't really want to have to chase the dark thing into the gloom. Sure, there was still better than an hour of light left, but one never knew when dealing with spirits. "Hey! Vætter! Come on out. I want to talk."

Silence.

She thought she smelled something … something … hot? Not burning, not smoky, but … maybe like hot metal? Why would that …

A club came down across her forearms, breaking one and sending the ladle and knife spinning away. Greta screamed in pain and whirled, only to get the same club across her face. With black and gray points filling her vision, she crumpled to earth. The last thing she heard before the weapon hit her again was, "You'll do."

. . .

. . .


	28. Distraction

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: I would like very much to thank CrunchDeNumbers for the direct inspiration for some of Elsa's new tactics in self-defense. His story "Magic Makes Fools" gladdened my li'l ol' engineer's heart. Thanks, man! Also in use are a couple of training concepts from JEGlass's amazing story, "For the First Time in Never". And here's a shout-out to JuneMermaid03 for supplying the name of Agdar's father, and for confirming that Idunn was an only child in her story, "A Most Auspicious Engagement". If you haven't read these stories, you are TOTALLY missing a treat!**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 27: Distraction**

. . .

. . .

_Friday 30 July 1841, 6:10pm_

Elsa stood at the window, hands clasped at her waist in that manner she had when things might not be going her way. "So to answer your question, I don't really know how much good they'll do. The crowds will be huge. I just don't think … that is, I don't know that the wards are capable of that fine a level of discrimination. In a group that big there is always going to be _**someone**_ who's merely having a bad day, and putting off the wrong kinds of signals."

"But didn't Carlos say he could look for bad guys through that silvery-place thingy?"

"The astral plane."

"Right. That thing."

"Yes. And so can I. But, again, with that MANY people together, and with the uncertainty of what is actually going to happen …" she turned back to Anna and threw her hands up in frustration. "And we don't even know if that's what Morana was talking about! I don't have a timeline or any specifics or a target or …"

"Elsa!" Anna had risen from the bed and stepped over to hug her sister. "It'll be okay. We'll figure something out."

The Queen returned the embrace with change. "I don't know how I would live if something … happened to you."

"Well you won't have to find out, because we'll get it sorted. You're smart and I'm stubborn."

Elsa pulled away a hand's-breadth and gave her sister a severe look. "You have a bad habit of comparing your intelligence unfavorably to mine, and it's nothing but balderdash. The trade deals you worked out with those two envoys were sheer genius. Master Carlsson himself couldn't have done a better job."

Anna blushed at the mention of the recently-retired Minister of Foreign Trade. "Oh, hush."

"I'm serious, Anna! If you'd just step back and …"

A knock interrupted her. One of the guards opened the door far enough to admit his head and announced, "Admiral Naismith to see you, Majesty."

"Thank you, Oren."

Mikael came in and strode up to the sisters. "Your Majesty, I've …"

"Elsa."

He sighed. "Your pardon. Elsa, I've been giving some thought to your wards."

An eyebrow quirked at him. "Yes?"

"You placed them around the castle in various forms and locations, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you set them – some of them – to activate under specific circumstances, did you not?"

"I did." She wondered where he was going with this. "But that was when the castle was empty save for us and the invaders. Over the last couple of days, when I've tried setting up the same sorts of protections, the triggers cast too broad a net. I'm not at all sure if they'll even work."

"Indeed. But that's not my point."

"Very well. What is?"

"You had also cast a ward on that remaining assassin."

"… Yyyyyyes. Nicolai. To prevent him from harming anyone."

"Could a ward cast on a human be set with an external trigger?"

Mulling that over for a moment, she finally shrugged and said, "I don't see why not. To what end?"

"Just this: when Weselton's thugs came after you in your ice palace, you defended yourself."

Since he seemed to be waiting for confirmation, she nodded.

"According to eyewitness accounts from some of the Watch, you had placed an ice wall between yourself and the crossbow bolt. It was still stuck in the ice."

Again, after a second, she nodded; her hands were quietly gripping each other as she fought down her reaction to that memory.

"Did you do it voluntarily, or was it a reflex?"

"… I … hmm." Frowning in thought, she tried to remember. "I … huh. It all happened so quickly." Her frown deepened. "That's a good question. I … don't really know. Uh … I knew he was … firing at me. I guess I just reacted."

"Just so."

Her puzzlement clear, she followed that up with, "And?"

Grinning, he held up three fingers and began ticking them off. "One: You can fabricate ice in any form or condition imaginable, at will, instantly. That means you can make ice walls for protection any time they are needed. Two: You can cast a ward on a human. Three: You can set the ward to activate via an external trigger."

The light was beginning to dawn.

"So I have just two final questions. Can you set the triggers so that they activate not just once, but any time a set of conditions occurs; and can you create the ice walls thus made so that they vanish as soon as they have done the job?"

"… Oh, my."

"Is it possible?"

"I should certainly think so. But …"

"But what?"

"Why have them disappear?"

"So they won't be in your way if you have to move."

"Oh! Well, that … makes sense."

"Then I would like to test this as soon as possible. Given that assassins have been sent after you recently – and premier assassins, at that – I believe it would behoove us to make you as bullet-proof as possible."

"Aren't bullets faster than crossbow bolts?"

"Somewhat. But that's just my point. We need to arrange for a series of tests to see whether you can place wards on yourself that will foil an assassination attempt, regardless of what form it takes or where it comes from."

"EEEEEEE!" Anna, unable to restrain her glee, jumped up and down while clapping. "That is the Best Plan Ever!"

Giving her sister a contemplative look, Elsa said, "You know … I believe I agree."

. . .

. . .

_6:40pm_

It didn't take them long to decide to use the training court that the Watch had set up for their own exercises. The Admiral spoke briefly with Jørgen and then left it in his more-than-capable hands.

Four men of the Watch, Sergeants who had years of experience in training both new recruits and seasoned veterans, had been issued a large number of small sandbags. These would be the first sort of missiles to try Elsa's defenses. Carlos, who had quickly been apprised of this experiment, and supported it whole-heartedly, stood to the side with Anna to observe.

Elsa hadn't needed long to come up with the right sort of ward to use in this circumstance, and wasted no time in casting it. The men ranged themselves around her at various distances.

Jørgen got her attention. "Ready?"

She nodded once.

"Okay, men, I want you to take turns throwing the sandbags. Space 'em out by a few seconds, and we'll see what happens."

To begin with, they tossed the bags underhand. As each got within about two paces of the Queen, a thin wall of blue ice materialized and stopped it. The bag would fall to the ground, and a couple of seconds later the wall would vanish in a sparkling cloud of granules. At first they took turns in order, clockwise, but then they started tossing them at random. It seemed to make no difference.

After the men collected the bags, and took their places again, Jørgen said, "Now I want you to throw the bags as hard as you can." He caught an incredulous glare from one of them and said, "Oh, come on, Ole, don't give me that look. We're trying to keep her safe from _**bullets**_, for God's sake."

Sergeant Ole snorted and rolled his shoulders. He was a tall, powerful man, and an expert with a throwing knife. "Fine. But one of these can kill you just as dead as a bullet if you throw it hard enough."

"Just throw the damn thing." The Captain looked at Elsa. "Ready?"

"Begin, please. This is actually rather fun."

"It won't be fun if one of those bags hits you."

"Then I'll just have to keep that from happening, won't I?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Go!"

This time the random, rapid-fire pace used up the bags in a matter of seconds, and one of them did slip by a wall, scoring Elsa in the shoulder. She winced, frowning, and muttered under her breath while rubbing the injury. The man who'd thrown it began apologizing, but she held up a hand. "Don't worry. I have to learn this. It's certainly not your fault that I don't really know what I'm doing."

Carlos trotted over. "If I may?"

"Sure. You have an idea?"

"Your walls are lasting about two seconds before dissipating. I'm thinking that may be too long."

"Really?"

"I'm watching how the ward functions each time it triggers. The ice formation looks to be instantaneous as far as I can tell, but there's a lag in the triggers if they come too close together. When that one hit you, three were coming at you almost simultaneously. I think that if you set the walls to vanish as soon as an impact occurs, that will help."

She pondered that. "Okay. I can see that. Give me a moment." He stepped back and she began raveling and re-knitting the traces in the ward. A couple of minutes later, she nodded in satisfaction. "I think you might have something there. Let's do it again."

Once more the hail of sandbags came her way. This time each encountered an impenetrable shield that didn't just stop it, but knocked it to the ground in much less time than the blink of an eye.

Anna pumped a fist in the air and yelled, "Sweeeeeet!"

Carlos grinned at Elsa. _[[ I __**would**__ say that was just showing off, but for the fact that I believe it to be necessary. ]]_

_[[ Don't think you're getting out of this without the same treatment. ]]_

_He feigned innocence. [[ Who, me? ]]_

_[[ None other. As soon as I get this perfected, you're getting the same sort of shield. ]]_

They worked at it for about two hours, until the Royals' grumbling stomachs insisted on a different activity. Elsa had needed to modify her shields twice more, once to make them a bit larger to handle multiple simultaneous attacks from the same direction, and once to make them thicker, heavier, and harder, after it was shown that a war-axe could actually break one if thrown hard enough. That little episode had led to pounding hearts for everyone involved.

Mikael met them for dinner, having been forced to attend a few meetings himself since they last spoke. He wanted a good briefing on the outcomes, and Jørgen had been more than happy to oblige.

"Sir, I tell you, the more I learn about Her Majesty's abilities, the better I think our chances are of escaping that stewpot un-boiled." He'd been apprised of Mikael's fears and projections regarding war and Arendelle's possible involvements. Both men had spent considerable brain-power going over the possible military uses for Elsa's wards.

Mikael nodded. "I'm already having visions of bullet-proof Marines, sails that won't tear or burn, and ships that shrug off cannon fire like so much chaff."

Suddenly alarmed, Elsa sat up very straight. "Now wait, Mikael!"

Carlos, though, couldn't help but be enthusiastic. "He's right, you know. You could make your Navy unsinkable."

"… What?"

"Well, think about it. Let's say you applied the same sorts of wards you've been using on yourself to one of your ships. Cannonballs wouldn't be able to touch it. Boarding parties wouldn't be able to get grappling hooks near it. Your Marines could take their time, firing from whatever position they like because they don't have to worry about return fire." He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head, grinning broadly. "Just put a few 36-pounders on each ship so they can really dish it out, and …"

"We have none of those," interrupted Mikael. "The largest long guns we have are the four 32-pounders that were on that French '74' the Queen captured last spring. Everything else is 24-pounders. Also, we don't have the facilities here in Arendelle to cast the shot for the 32's, so the supply on the ship – I believe there were a hundred and eight balls – constitutes the sum total of our ammunition."

Carlos nodded slowly. "I see. That might be a problem."

"Indeed. However, it is a problem that may be overcome."

"… You're thinking about those treaties you mentioned?"

"I am. We should begin, as soon as is feasible, to purchase larger long guns, and I think we should purchase them from Sweden."

Elsa stared at him dumbly for a moment before his meaning dawned on her. "You want to treat with them to patrol and protect this portion of the western coast!"

"Precisely. At present, the King of Sweden and Norway is engaged in a delicate dance with Russia and Denmark for control of the inner seas. They only very lightly patrol the west. Meanwhile, France has thirty-four ships fielding at least forty-six guns, and half those are ships-of-the-line with at least eighty-two guns, plus dozens of smaller, faster craft. Britain doesn't have quite as many tall ships, but their own ships-of-the-line are the best out there, and they are building _**steamers**_ to the tune of seven million pounds sterling this year alone. Those steamers are lightly armed, comparatively, but mostly iron-clad, so ball shot won't do much to them. We would need exploding shot to take them down."

"_**Exploding**_ shot?!"

"Absolutely. Iron-clads are the new face of naval force, for exactly that reason."

"You're talking about building a new foundry!"

"Yes."

"But … foundries are extremely expensive! That will all but wipe out Arendelle's coffers!"

"Welcome to Nineteenth-Century warfare, my Queen."

She came very close to cursing, but bit her cheek instead. "So we have no choice? We have to adopt a – a wartime economy?"

"Certainly not the whole economy, no. But at present we import ALL of our iron and most of our shot. The bulk of it comes from Britain these days, since we stopped sourcing it from Weselton, but we could buy it from Sweden instead. We can cast perhaps twenty balls a day for our 24-pounders and those, frankly, won't do much to ships-of-the-line." He leaned forward. "Elsa … you can protect Arendelle." He lightly smacked the table with both hands. "Arendelle the land, the city, the nation. You can keep them safe. But if one of the maritime powers decided to blockade us, at this time there is absolutely nothing we can do about it."

Carlos nodded. "And we must needs change that."

"Which is why we need a few big guns, and the ability to cast explosive ordnance."

"Yes. You put, say four of the big guns on each ship, and arm them with canisters that detonate on impact. If you don't have to worry about taking damage, you can take your time and poke the other ships full of holes. All of a sudden, you've turned your lightest schooner into a dreadnaught. Even given the fact that you only have nine warships a-float, any force that goes up against Arendelle will lose. Decisively. How many such engagements do you think an enemy would want to undertake before deciding that leaving Arendelle alone was the better part of valor? Not even France has an unlimited supply of ships."

"Not only that, Your Majesty," put in Jørgen, "but there's one other really appealing use that one of my men came up with."

She gave him a level look, not being terribly keen on all these martial uses for her talents. "And what would that be?"

"You could craft a ward that would activate if there was a hull breach. It could encase the outside of the hull in a fathom's worth of ice. Ice floats. The ship wouldn't sink. It COULDN'T sink."

Images of her parents' memorial stones flitted across her mind. She swallowed hard, thinking, wishing, regretting …

_[[ My Dear One, there was nothing you could have done. Please believe that. Even if your father had ENCOURAGED you to hone your abilities, you'd have had no way to learn about casting wards. ]]_

She turned shimmering eyes toward Carlos. _[[ That's true. Please believe me when I say I understand that. But you know … it doesn't really help much. ]]_

He sent her his love, waves and waves of it until she cracked a smile and gave her head a tiny shake_. [[ I don't deserve you. ]]_

_[[ True. You deserve much better than me. But since I'm utterly smitten with you and not going anywhere, I'm afraid you're stuck with my dregs. ]]_

_[[ Shush, you! ]]_

"Your Majesty?"

Elsa brought herself back down to Earth. "I'm sorry, Jørgen, some … ill memories intruded. What was that you just said?"

"That there really isn't a huge rush on things. At this point, only a handful of us know the details." He glanced over at his superior officer. "And I'm pretty sure _**some**_ of us don't yet know all of them."

Mikael gave him a very serene, very silent smile.

Jørgen chuckled. "And I realize that you're even now still learning what you can do …" flicking his eyes toward Carlos for a second, he amended, "… what you both can do. The prospects make me hopeful … and possibly a little giddy. But really, nothing has to be decided yet. Certainly no one has declared war."

"No other nation," added Mikael, "has even entertained the concept."

"So this – all this war talk – this is all _conjecture?_" Elsa's tone conveyed what she thought of that.

"Call it more of a very well-educated guess. My spy network would have turned up something by now if they had. So Jørgen's right. We have time. Probably until next spring. But we should make the trade arrangements and acquire the ordnance well in advance of the need."

That observation actually did help Elsa to feel better about her plight, and that of Arendelle. "Okay, then. I guess … I suppose we can concentrate on more present concerns."

"Such as the wedding of the year," remarked Anna, "coming up day after tomorrow? Is that the present concern you mean?"

Elsa had to smile. "It is. And I think I would like that very much."

. . .

. . .

_11:15pm_

Strong moonlight reflected through the multitude of small, diamond-paned windows to lend a soft glow to the Royal Portrait Gallery. Twelve generations of the sovereigns of Arendelle graced its walls, interspersed with other, important scenes from their lives. Most of the earlier subordinate paintings depicted battles, or the immediate outcome of them, but such was not the case for her father, Agdar III, or his father, Raimond I. They had wisely maneuvered Arendelle into a position of neutrality with respect to any kingdom that might conceivably take an interest in it, and had hung onto that label with fierce tenacity.

Standing in front of her parents' portrait, Elsa felt very small. Small and scared.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "So terribly, terribly sorry. I'm so afraid Arendelle is going to get dragged into a war. Our people don't deserve that." Her tears froze on her cheeks, breaking off when she sniffed and dropping to the marble floor with tiny, tinkling sounds. Elsa fancied she could hear the echoes in the empty hall.

Her father and mother stood side by side in the likeness, and Elsa had to admit that it was a very good one. The artist had captured her father's stoicism and her mother's concern, just as she remembered them. This painting was unique among the group in that the King and Queen were depicted together. Agdar's mother, Queen Consort Danhild, had her own portrait to the left of Raimond's. She was a strikingly beautiful girl, with a dazzling wealth of wavy chestnut hair, and quite young in the painting; Elsa knew that she had died in a riding accident when Agdar was only three years old, and that the royal portrait was an embellished copy of an earlier, more informal work. Raimond had remarried many years later to a much younger woman, a Countess Liesel of Schwaben. That woman and Agdar had not got on very well, especially after he ascended to the throne upon his father's death the year after his marriage to Idunn. He'd had her portrait removed. The Dowager Consort had a small estate at the southern extreme of Arendelle, and never left it.

Elsa had become familiar with the inhabitants of this room many years ago; one of her history tutors had insisted. The paternal lineage of Arendelle was well-represented. Some three hundred years of royal antiquity stared back at her, and if legend was to be believed, the Arendahl line stretched back unbroken for a hundred generations. She **seriously** doubted that legend. Arendelle hadn't even BEEN a kingdom as recently as six hundred years ago, much less two or two and a half millennia. The tiny collection of wooden huts that had once occupied the strand where she now stood certainly didn't qualify as a 'kingdom' in Elsa's mind.

The distaff side of her ancestry was much less in evidence. Three portraits only: Idunn's mother, Ragnhild; Ragnhild's mother, Marte, and some obscure great-great aunt whose name escaped Elsa at the moment.

None of that was important, though; it all flitted through her mind like leaves in the wind. The only thing that mattered was keeping her kingdom safe, and if even half of what Mikael had told her bore any credibility at all, that was going to be nigh onto impossible. She wrung her hands in an agony of indecision. "What do I do?" she asked her father. "What do I do, Papa? How do I even have a prayer of keeping this land safe? Why aren't you here now to guide me in this? Why did you have to leave?"

"You really think he'd be much help?"

Elsa choked back a scream and whirled to face the intruder, hands glowing a fierce blue. Swallowing with difficulty, she controlled her breathing, clenched the light out of her fists, stood straight, and intoned, "Lady Morana. I'm afraid that recent events mean I don't react well to bad starts."

"I noticed."

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh, don't be so formal." She waved off Elsa's question impatiently. "And it's more in the way of what I can do for you."

Her caution growing exponentially, Elsa thought about her response before saying, "Oh, you needn't trouble yourself. I'm sure things will work out."

"And I'm sure you're wrong." The Fey walked over to the portrait, tapping a slender finger against her lower lip. "I told you before, your father had good intentions, but he rarely thought things through. If he had, he wouldn't have developed such close ties with Weselton." Glancing back at the Queen, she added, "Nor would he have treated you so shabbily."

Elsa held her silence, straining not to bite her lip.

"I'm not telling you anything you don't know."

"Then what, if I may be so bold as to ask, is your point, My Lady?"

"Point? Who said anything about a point? Do I need a point to visit my favorite great-great-great-great-great granddaughter?"

"I wouldn't know, My Lady. My experience with picking the knots out of the motives of the Fey is somewhat limited."

Clear peals of laughter followed that statement. "And that's why you're my favorite!"

That made Elsa frown. "Does that imply that I have a seventh cousin around somewhere?"

"I suppose it's not outside the bounds of the possible."

"So you don't keep track?"

"Why would I?"

"… Entertainment value?"

"My dear little Queen, YOU are providing that, and handsomely."

"I am gratified to be of use."

Morana laughed again. "Excellent." Turning back to the portrait, she remarked, "Consider your mother."

"What about her?"

"This portrait is uncannily accurate."

Elsa took a step toward her. "Did you know her? I'd think she would have told me."

"We never met."

"… Then how …"

Morana gave her a lopsided smirk. "Hello? Fey? I have my ways."

"… Of course."

"Look at her."

"I have been doing that for the past quarter hour and more."

"So you have. Yet you don't see. Look at her nose, her eyes, her chin."

"Yes? And?"

Heaving a sigh, Morana faced her and said, "Do you own a looking glass?"

"Of … course. But why …"

"You are the very image of your mother. Were her hair blonde, or yours brown, it would be exceedingly difficult to tell you apart."

"Very well. So there's a strong family resemblance."

Morana grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to the painting of Ragnhild. "Look."

The woman sat on a small throne, draped in lavish furs, hung heavily with gold chains, but bearing up well under the weight of her crown. Her husband, King Allred, had died in battle some five years after their marriage, and she had taken up the reins of power with nary a flinch, leading the small nation of Beren to a series of victories that kept them independent until they were absorbed into Sweden by (approximately) mutual consent the year Elsa had turned seven. Several other lesser kingdoms had undergone the same transformation in the last half-century. The Swedes could be alarmingly persuasive.

"Very well. What am I looking at?"

"Her chin. Her eyes. Her nose."

Elsa blinked, then examined the portrait with fresh perspective. "She looks … very much like Mama."

"How about that."

"Umm …"

Morana pulled her over to the painting of her great-grandmother, Marte, and simply pointed. Elsa knew the drill by now, and saw the similarities immediately. "Umm … it would seem that, ah, the, ah, maternal influence is … very strong."

"Indeed. The Fey lineage is dominant … in **ALL** of my descendants."

There was a different timbre in the lilt of Morana's voice, and Elsa turned to look at her … then took a step back.

It was like looking into a mirror.

The doppelganger smiled. "Now do you understand?"

Elsa's gaze flicked rapidly from the cerulean perfection of her eyes to her small, softly-pointed nose, to her platinum-blonde braid to the unblemished column of her neck to her delicate mouth … and back to her eyes. She was quite literally speechless.

"This was my appearance when a certain itinerant painter caught my eye. This was how I looked when I gave birth to his daughter." She reached out and caressed Elsa's cheek. "This is why you look the way you do."

"My Lady, I … you …"

The Fey's form melted back into her black-haired, more-well-endowed version. "Don't forget what I said. My blood is strong in ALL my daughters." She gave Elsa a knowing grin and vanished.

Elsa just stood there, staring at nothing for a few minutes, processing what she'd seen. _Am I just a reflection? Nothing more than a shade of my ancestor? Why did she tell me this?_ Glancing up finally at Marte's likeness, Elsa shouted, "Was that supposed to be helpful? Seriously?"

Silence was her only answer.

_Wait._

"She said, 'My blood is strong in ALL my daughters.' Does that mean …"

_Wait just a blasted minute!_

Picking up her skirts, Elsa took off for Anna's room at a sprint.

. . .

. . .


	29. Horripilation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: Hans is steadily sinking. Be warned that the last section here is not pretty.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 28: Horripilation**

. . .

. . .

_Friday 30 July 1841, 11:35pm_

Elsa had snatched a dark lantern of hammered tin from one of the patrols as she darted by. She couldn't be sure Anna would still be up, or her room lit. She didn't bother knocking, jerking the door open and slipping inside quickly, giving the dumbfounded guards only the most perfunctory of acknowledgements. They looked at each other and shrugged. "Any clue what that's about?"

"Nope. But i' th' Queen needs us I guess she'll say so."

"Yeah. She woulda said somethin' if there was an attack. Wouldn't she?"

"Sure an' tha's it. It's prob'ly somewhat to do wi' th' weddin'. Women get like tha', even Queens."

"Ah. Bet you're right."

Elsa glided over to Anna's bed, her nose twitching at the pungent aromas of sex hovering near it. _She's going to be married in two days. It's not really that important. I promised I wouldn't say anything about it. I promised._ Drawing a deep breath, she reached down to shake Anna awake.

The Princess jerked upright. "WhatWhoWhere?!" Squinting through the gloom that Elsa's shuttered lantern only marginally lifted, she muttered, "Elsa? What … is there something wrong?"

"Morana just visited again."

THAT woke her up. "What'd she want?"

"I think she was trying to tell me something about you."

The chill that passed over her made Anna shiver noticeably. "What ABOUT me?"

"I'll get to that. But I've got some questions first."

"… Okay."

"When we left the funeral this afternoon, you tripped over a watering trough in front of the Greentree Tavern."

"Um, yeah. I did. So what? I trip over stuff all the time."

"I know you do. You took a pretty good spill."

"Sure did. I was afraid I'd compromised my modesty for a second there."

Elsa failed to rise to that bait. "You whacked your shin against that stone trough really hard."

"And it hurt like the dickens. That sucker didn't budge."

"May I see your leg?"

With a very puzzled expression, Anna pulled her sheets down and her nightgown up, exposing her lower legs. "Okay. So what?"

Elsa held the lantern over the bed and then nodded, getting a chill of her own. "Where's the bruise?"

"Um, right, uh … huh. Well, that's funny." She shrugged. "I don't bruise much anymore. Tough skin, I guess, from all that tripping and falling."

Elsa let her fingers drift lightly over the unmarred, velvety softness. "No. Tough isn't the first word that comes to mind."

"Why does it matter?"

"Anna. I saw you fall. I was afraid you'd broken something. The edge of that stone was sharp and uneven. You held your leg for what must have been close to two minutes; the guards were getting worried. The pain actually made you cry."

"I did NOT cry!"

"Okay, then, you winced really, really hard until your cheeks got wet."

"… Maybe." She cocked her head at her sister. "Again I say, so what?"

"I've been thinking. The whole time while I was coming here tonight, I was going over … well." Setting the lantern on Anna's side-table so that the thin shaft of light bounced off the wall and lent a low illumination to the room, the Queen perched on the edge of the bed. "Let me give you a for-instance. Do you recall the night you came after me when I ran up North Mountain?"

"Elsa … I'll remember THAT night for the rest of my days!"

"You told me you fell into a stream. You got your dress soaked and it froze as you wore it."

"Yeah, it was freakin' cold. So?"

"Most people who went through something like that would've caught their death of chill … if they didn't just freeze to death outright."

"So I'm lucky? I've got a strong constitution?"

"I think it's more than that."

"… But … What are you getting at?"

"Anna." Elsa put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Can you remember ever getting sick? I mean really sick, stuck-in-bed-for-a-few-days-with-the-physic-coming-around-regularly sick?"

Anna blinked at her, getting an uncomfortable flush across her neck. She racked her brain for an answer, her gaze going long.

_Whooping cough?_ No.

_Mumps?_ No.

_Measles? Influenza? Croup? _No.

_Chicken Pox? A mild fever? A head cold? The sniffles?_

_Anything?_

She focused on her sister. "I got nothin'."

"As I had assumed. I never got sick either. I'd thought before that it was due to being so isolated, but now I don't think that's it."

"So … so does that … is that what Morana meant? We don't get sick because we've got Fey blood? That's … I mean, that's kinda cool, but …"

"I think it's more than that, especially with you."

"How so?"

"When you were little, you were constantly falling and tripping and hitting yourself and taking crazy chances."

Anna drew back slightly but didn't say anything.

"When you were three …"

"Now how am I supposed to remember something from that long ago?"

"I remember; you don't have to. We'd been playing hide and seek. You hid in the kitchen."

"Hide and seek?"

"You hid in the big stove. I couldn't find you and finally gave up and went to play with my dolls. You must have fallen asleep. But somebody started a fire in the firebox to begin preparation for supper. By the time you woke up, your dress was on fire. I remember the dress. It had holes burned in it in several places."

"Wait. I do remember that. Sort of."

"I remember the screaming. Cook said the scullery had killed the Princess. I was horribly worried. They said you were in the oven for a few minutes after it got hot because the door always stuck and you didn't have the strength to open it from the inside. I was so afraid you were dead."

"Yes." Anna's voice was a whisper. "I do recall that. I remember … in the oven, the smell. That's what I remember. It … it smelled like when we had roast pork."

"That was the smell of your flesh, burning. That's what got Cook's attention. That's why she opened the door."

Anna's mouth opened and closed a few times.

"You were burned, Anna. Blistered and … and charred. It must have been horrifically painful." She swallowed hard. "I took the dress you were wearing. They'd tossed it aside while the doctor worked on you in his offices. I got it. I kept it for the longest time. No one who had been through what that dress went through would have survived."

"But … Elsa …"

"I remember what the chirurgeon said. I was hiding close by, praying for you. He didn't think you'd make it through the night. He said that you'd been badly burned and that the shock would kill you. I was sick with worry. I never slept that night, just kept praying over and over and …" She reached over and caressed Anna's cheek. "I didn't know what I was going to do, how I could even go on, after you died."

"But I didn't die!"

"No. You didn't. And the next afternoon you were pounding on my door, wanting to go catch frogs in the garden."

The redhead's gasp echoed around the room.

"You should have been bed-ridden for weeks. You should have been scarred for life. I kept hearing the word 'miracle' tossed around. Everyone in the castle thought so. For at least the next year I prayed every night to thank God for saving your life. Gerda said you had a guardian angel."

"… But …"

"Wait." She held up a hand. "Anna … when you were seven I remember one time when I saw some guards carry you inside. They said you'd fallen out of a tall tree. You were trying to put a baby bird back into its nest. Do you remember?"

"Um … kinda? I sorta remember about a baby bird. Starling, I think. I did get it back into its nest. I fell when I was coming back down." She reached up and tentatively rubbed the back of her neck. "Don't remember anything after falling. I think I hit my head."

"I sneaked out of my room and down to yours. I heard somebody say something about you breaking your neck."

Both Anna's hands went to her throat without her thinking about it.

"Just the week before, one of the masons working on the city wall had fallen and broken his neck. It killed him."

There was no sound, no movement from her sister.

"I ran to the cathedral and found the Bishop. He hadn't heard yet. I dragged him into the Dome and made him pray for you. I made him pray for your guardian angel to come back and save you again."

Anna couldn't help grinning. "Aww! You were so brave!"

"I was scared out of my mind."

"But obviously I didn't break my neck."

Elsa only cocked on eyebrow at that statement.

Anna's chill came back. "Wait. Elsa, no! Now wait just a minute. You … you think I broke my NECK?!"

"I think it's entirely possible." She scooted closer and pulled Anna to her. "Anna … I think you bump into things and trip over things and knock things down because you've never had any need to be more careful. I think you … you either heal really, really quickly … or you don't really get damaged in the first place. Or something."

"Elsa!" Her panic level was ramping up. "How … No! That's just crazy talk! I'm not … not immune to … to injury! I can't be!"

"Really?"

"Don't you think I would have noticed by now?"

"Not if getting hurt knocked you out." She leaned forward. "Not if you have your own, innate version of Carlos's healing aura. You probably wouldn't remember. You would just think the accident wasn't that bad."

Anna _tried_ to draw a breath. Really, she did.

"Morana is just as much your ancestor as she is mine. And what she said to me, not twenty minutes ago, is that her blood runs strong in ALL her daughters. She said it twice, just like that. The emphasis was hers."

Anna pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. "Elsa, this is freaky."

"Now you have a slight glimpse of what my life's been like."

"But … how do we know? How can we find out?"

"Do you have a knife?"

"… Elsa! I'm not gonna CUT myself!"

"Okay, then. But I don't know how else to test it." She pointed at where Anna's leg should have an ugly bruise. "Maybe this is proof enough. I'm already convinced."

"Hang on. … I think I already did."

"Did what?"

"Cut myself."

"Really? When?"

"I was … oh, fourteen or fifteen. I was messing around with the kitchen knives."

"I'd stay away from kitchens if I were you. They're bad for your health."

"Hush. I was, um, trying to juggle them and …"

"Anna!"

"Well! Odelina could do it!"

"… Odelina. … You mean Odelina Oortmann? The trainee sous chef?"

"Yeah."

"Anna! She was born and raised in a traveling troupe! She could juggle as soon as she could walk!"

"But it looked easy."

"Yes, that's the trick, isn't it? Why didn't you start with balls or stones or … or stuffed toys or something?"

"Um … the knives were handy? I'd just seen her do it that morning?"

"You MUST have some kind of healing power to have lived this long."

"Geez, love you, too."

Elsa had to shake her head, bemused by Anna's irrepressible spirit. "Okay, so you juggled the knives …"

"And I cut my hand."

"What a shock. A knife cutting something."

"Smartass. Anyway, it kinda bled a lot. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it up and hid the bloody knife. But later, when I looked at it, there was just a little scraped-looking place. I figured it hadn't really cut me much, and I just bled easily."

"I'd say not."

"I think maybe you're right. But just because I heal up quick doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a lot when I do it."

"Which would TEND to make one think you'd be a little more careful."

Anna nibbled her lower lip for a minute, then slid off the bed and trotted to her vanity, returning shortly with a small penknife. "I used to cut my own quills. The ones the penmanship-master made were always too pointy."

"You mean you always pressed too hard and tore the paper."

"Did not."

"I saw your lessons, Anna."

"You have your story, I have mine."

"If it makes you happy."

"It does." Anna hunched over and opened the tiny knife. "Where should I try?"

"Honestly, I don't think it will matter. The palm of your … no, wait, here, on the back of your forearm. It's not as sensitive there."

Anna glanced from her arm to her sister and back, drew a breath and scored a tiny cut, grimacing at the sudden, bright pain. Both women watched it closely.

At first it bled as any cut would … but then the bleeding slowed and stopped. Over a period of about four minutes, a scab formed.

Drawing a long breath, Anna observed, "That doesn't look … too weird."

"It scabbed over awfully quickly, though."

They watched it for another three minutes before it happened. If the light in the room had been brighter, they might have missed the brief series of tiny sparks that zipped across the cut. Both women gasped. Then suddenly the blood turned very dark and flaked off away from the wound.

"Whoa." Suddenly Anna's throat was dry as a salt flat.

Elsa asked, "Does it hurt now?"

"Not at all." Anna's voice was small.

"Press it."

"What?"

"See if it's sore to the touch."

"Oh." She pushed gently on it, frowned, pushed harder, and said, "Huh."

"No pain?"

"No. None."

"See if the scab will come off."

Anna eased a fingernail under the edge of the scab and tugged. It peeled back readily, revealing a thin, pink scar. "Shit."

"Anna!"

"Sorry. But Elsa … I mean, DAMN!"

"Well at least it proves out my theory. You healed that cut in under ten minutes."

Anna flopped back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. "Elsa?"

"Yes?"

"Do you heal quickly, too?"

"No. I've cut myself from time to time, and it has to heal over the course of days just like everyone else."

"Except now, because you've got that aura thing from Carlos."

"Well, yes." She considered her sister. "Anna? Would you be willing to cut yourself again?"

"… Why?"

"I'd like to watch from the astral plane, to see if I can identify what sort of magic it is."

"Oh." She squinted at the clock on her mantel, turned Elsa's lantern so the thin beam shown in that direction. "Whoa. Elsa, it's almost midnight. Can we do this tomorrow? I was bushed two hours ago, and hadn't been asleep a quarter-hour when you woke me up."

"… How can you possibly SLEEP after what we just found out?"

"Easy. It's nothing new." She rearranged her covers a bit and slid back down into their embrace. "Apparently I've been this way my whole life. Yeah, it's cool and stuff, but it's not different, and it's not anything I have to worry about. For that matter, I think I'll sleep _better_. You should, too."

"Oh, very well." She leaned over and kissed Anna's forehead. "Fancy you being the voice of reason."

"As if I had a choice? We've got a big day tomorrow. Practice, practice, practice. We've got our final fittings at nine sharp, and Penny is a right task-master about that stuff."

"Yes, we do, don't we?" Elsa rose gracefully to her feet (Anna had observed more than once that it wasn't possible for Elsa to do anything UN-gracefully) and collected her lantern. "Thank you for humoring me."

"Well," answered her sister with a yawn, "at least it'll make Kristoff happy."

"Kristoff? Well, yes, I suppose. He's probably been worried about your safety, too."

"He's been worried about breaking me. I told him I was stronger than I looked and that I like it rough, but he's about twice as big as me and …"

"Anna! Just because I don't forbid it doesn't mean I want to hear all about it!"

An unrepentant grin was her answer. "Good night, Elsa. Love you."

"… Love you, too, you extremely silly person."

. . .

. . .

_Midnight_

Poison-crafting, Hans had reflected more than once, was a lot more involved, and a hell of a lot _trickier_, than anyone knew. That was especially true for infernal poisons.

He wasn't leaving himself a very big window of opportunity, given that the final phase of the brewing would take place in exactly forty-eight hours, during the night after the wedding. He couldn't really care, though. Once he'd decided to use this particular toxin, other considerations faded to background noise.

Two sources of light, and two only, lent a glow to the small room: the pile of coals on which the cauldron sat, and Hans's eyes. It would be difficult to tell at this point which one shone with a deeper red.

Slowly and carefully did he measure out the herbs, keeping his face covered except for his eyes. It wouldn't do for any of that powder to waft into his nose or mouth. That would cut things short in a hurry, and then who would be left to take revenge on Elsa? Some powdered pearl and a long incantation later, he backed away and turned his attention to the room's other occupant.

Greta lay, securely bound, on a wooden bench, still unconscious from her abduction. Hans pulled a block-and-tackle down from a rafter and hooked it on the rope that bound her ankles, following the instructions of the sweetly-cloying voice that guided him now, its light, smooth tones tickling his mind like the flutter of a moth's wing behind his eyes. Pulling several times on the rope, he soon had her hanging head down.

He positioned a large, copper bowl under her, then broke a vial of smelling salts by her nose. She jerked and tried to pull away, coming to her senses slowly, obviously confused at her position. Craning her neck around, she focused blearily on Hans. "… Help me …" Her voice was cracked and weak.

The possessed man took a ball of burlap about half the size of his fist and jammed it into her mouth, then wound a strip of muslin three times around her head, locking it in place. "You have to be awake for this. But I can't have you screaming. Got to keep everything nice and quiet, nice and secret." Having caught sight of his eyes, she tried screaming anyway, her face distended with terror as she realized his intentions.

He checked the security of her bonds and then picked up a long auger, usually used to bore holes in ale kegs for placing the bung. Holding it in front of her, he grinned. "You need to be aware of what's happening to you. Your fear and pain is part of the magic."

Half an hour later he had the bowl full.

. . .

. . .

_**End Note: Did this creep you out as badly as it did me? The characters have taken over the keyboard again.**_


	30. Anticipation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: You know that part in the horror movie where the heroine is walking along innocently, completely unaware of the Nameless Dread that is Very Close Behind Her? I hate that part … especially if the mood music is really creepy.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 29: Anticipation**

* * *

_Carlos thought to himself that he ought to be writing this down._

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Saturday 31 July 1841, 11:15am_

"Oh, _**WILL**_ you 'old still!"

Elsa stifled a giggle as she watched Penny struggle with Anna's corset.

The Princess was not amused. "Why do I even have to wear this stupid thing? I AM gonna have to breathe if I'm to say … _urgh_ …" Her cheeks puffed out in protest as Penny yanked on the stays. "… say my vows so anyone can hear me! _Ow!_ Yes, those are my ribs! I'd like 'em un-cracked if you don't mind!"

"If you'd been a-wearin' a corset all along, loik a proper Princess shud, you'd be used to 'er boi now." Licking her lips in concentration, she muttered, "Nivver 'ad a spot o' trouble out o' Charlotte. Princess o' Wales growed up in one."

"_Bother_ the Bloody Princess of Bloody Wales! I have … _ow!_ … no intention of get- _damn it!_ … getting used to … _ugh_." Her countenance a delicate shade of fuchsia, Anna released the bedframe and stood straight to give her sister an imploring look. "El, is this really necessary? What's wrong with the bustier I usually wear? I never thought my figure was all _that_ terrible."

"Oh, it's not. You're quite fetching, as I'm sure Kristoff has made you aware any number of times."

Anna didn't reply directly. Her face was already so florid that the rising blush in her cheeks didn't really show.

Very primly, Penny quipped, "Th' purpose is t' git yer wyist smaw enough so yer 'usband can span it wiv 'is 'ands."

In exasperation the Princess exclaimed, "Kristoff can get his hands around my waist already!"

"And has," mumbled Elsa, trying to hide a grin. Anna shot her a look.

Penny frowned, examining the cut of the corset. "Oi meant a _normal_ 'usband."

"He IS normal!"

"Oi _**meant**_," the seamstress qualified, pursing her lips, "someone 'ooze 'ands'd fit in a gallon bucket."

Anna opened her mouth to retort, but then mentally compared said bucket with the size of Kristoff's hands and thought better of it. "Well … well how come Elsa doesn't have to wear one?"

Eyes sparkling in merriment, the Queen answered, "I'm not the one getting married."

"Fine. Fine. Whatever. But does it have to be THIS tight? No joke, I can't take a deep breath!"

"Breave wiv th' top 'arf o' yer lungs."

"… Seriously?"

"Loik this." And Penny demonstrated.

Unimpressed, Anna observed, "It makes you look like a pigeon."

"The Prince Consort Apparent will fink odderwoise, Oi promise."

"True," put in Elsa, "if you do that when the two of you are standing at the altar, he'll forget his lines."

Penny guffawed. "Too roight! Now, Princess, if you'd be so koind as t' 'old onto th' bedpost again …"

. . .

. . .

_12:45pm_

Carlos met them for lunch. Kristoff, per tradition and to keep him away from the bride until the wedding, was making the rounds of the taverns with a large group of his friends, getting quite thoroughly shit-faced. The ritual started at noon and continued as long as the groom could stand unaided. Given what Anna knew of Kristoff's capacity for alcohol, he'd probably keep going until supper.

The Princess had only been truly drunk twice, neither time on purpose.

On the first occasion, a state dinner at which _**quite**_ a few toasts were made, she hadn't been aware that she was supposed to water her wine. She'd barely been able to walk to her room, and her hangover the next morning was epic; that was a lost day, and no mistake.

The second time had been her introduction to _akvavit_, for which she'd discovered a great liking. She didn't think she'd had that much, but then she also didn't know that it was about four times as strong as wine. She awoke the next day to a crew of kobolds excavating her brain-pan and a tongue that felt like it had been used as a sled runner. Kristoff had brought her a rank-smelling mug of something that was dark green and opaque. "Troll juice," he claimed. He told her to hold her nose and down it in one go. Within a quarter-hour of drinking it, her hangover was merely an unpleasant memory. He'd mentioned a few times that the trolls regularly consumed liquors that would make a human's head explode, and had developed appropriate antidotes. So she wasn't worried about his performance at the wedding. He'd be sober.

The Spaniard endured with good humor her lengthy and spiteful diatribe about the evils of Cockney seamstresses and their demon-crafted torture devices. Smiling into his glass of small beer, he Sent to Elsa, _[[ You were there. Was it as bad as all that? ]]_

_[[ No more than it would be for any other fit, slim nineteen-year-old. Truly, there wasn't much the corset could do to cinch her in. But she's never worn one before, so to her it felt as if Penny was trying to squeeze her into a gun barrel. ]]_

_[[ You've never worn one either. Does that mean you'll have to go through this with Penny when our wedding comes along? ]]_

_[[ Oh, Heavens, no! Queen's prerogative. I can wear whatever I want under my wedding dress. ]] _Her eyes sparkled at him across the table. _[[ Which likely won't be much. ]]_

He just grinned back. _[[ I hope you don't think that shocks me. After nearly four normal lifetimes, I'm reliably un-shockable. ]]_

_[[ That's what I'm counting on. ]]_

"Hey! You two! Quit with the private conversations. It's impolite."

They both had the grace to color slightly.

After lunch Anna went to her room to practice her parts of the ceremony. It irked her to no end that Kristoff had memorized his without a great deal of fuss, and she was determined to match his efforts.

Elsa had an afternoon's worth of paperwork to attend to (just because there was a royal wedding taking place didn't mean there wasn't still a country to run) so Carlos made his way over to Admiral Naismith's house.

'Old Hard-As-Nails' could have afforded an estate, had he possessed the desire for one, but that wasn't his style. Instead, he maintained a medium-sized townhouse in the city, and (when he needed some down-time) a quaint seaside cottage of stucco-covered driftwood half a league north. The Spaniard found him in his study, going over a map of Arendelle City.

"Dare I ask?" he quipped, upon being ushered into the Admiral's presence.

"Security measures for the wedding. There will be no hiccups."

"That's good to know. It seems we have similar goals."

"Oh?"

"There's something you should know." He outlined for the old military man the conversation Elsa had recently had with Morana.

"Damn and blast," was his reaction.

"Exactly. Now, neither of us has any idea WHEN this supposed 'test' is going to occur, but it seems to me …"

"Indeed. The wedding would be a prime target if someone happens to bear the Queen ill will."

"Admiral, I know you've taken a number of precautions, but in light of this, ah, possibility, it might behoove us to beef up the force a bit."

"More than a bit. Quite a bit more." He shot Carlos a look. "Does she know you're here talking to me?"

"Yes. I hadn't given her any particulars because I didn't know your plans, but I did tell her I was going to speak to you."

"Good. She dislikes secrets, having been the prisoner of one most of her life."

"This I know."

Mikael canted back in his chair and contemplated the ceiling. "Between the Watch and the Guard, we have about a hundred and … thirty men. They are all part of the security detail already. I have three hundred Marines out with patrols. I plan to have two-thirds of them back in Arendelle before the wedding."

"What sorts of armaments do the Marines carry?"

"Sword, pistol, daggers, and carbines. And I have a squad of half a dozen riflemen equipped with the latest breech-loading long guns from Belgium. Very accurate."

"Long-range accurate?"

"Absolutely."

"Perfect."

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk, Mikael said, "You, sir, have the benefit of having been in several dozen land battles over varied circumstances. The bulk of my military experience has been on the sea, but I have an intimate knowledge of the layout of Arendelle. I believe that, between us, we can get to a position of reliable confidence concerning the security of the wedding."

"Indeed, sir. And I do have a few ideas …"

. . .

. . .

_An Abandoned Stable in Eastern Arendelle - 3:00pm_

High summer, even this far north, meant heat, and it was stifling in the small room. The fly-covered corpse hanging from a hook in the corner was beginning to smell. Dust motes floated in the still air, sometimes lazily crossing the path of one of the needle-thin shafts of sunlight that filtered between the wall's wooden slats. The only other source of illumination in the room was a low fire under a medium-sized cauldron bubbling with a thick, light-brown sludge.

Hans hunched over the cauldron, the _Handbook of Arcane Poisons_ clutched lovingly to his chest as he muttered the incantations over and over and over and …

The **voice** had given him the right words. They weren't words he could understand, but the **voice** assured him that didn't matter.

The **voice** knew his heart.

The **voice** told him it hated Elsa just as much as he did.

For that, he loved the **voice**.

He would do anything for the **voice**, that sweet, subtle fluttering in his head that never, ever let him be alone now.

A low creaking sound alerted him to the arrival of his gang. Carefully he kissed the _Handbook_ and reverently he laid it into a special cradle he'd made for it. _I will be back soon, my love!_ Then he composed his features, ran a hand over his shaven pate to make sure no wisps had escaped, picked up a bag of silver pieces and the special keg of ale, put just the right hunch into his stance, and went out into the main room.

The group of thirteen stood in a sullen knot. Hans shuffled forward and set the bag and the keg on a bench to the side. Turning to the designated spokesman, he said, "I would like to thank you for your service so far. As a token of my appreciation, there are ten pieces of silver for each of you."

That got their attention. One of them said, "Kroner?"

"No. Speciedaler."

They snatched for the bag. A few minutes and dozens of curses were consumed in the division of the silver. Then the tallest of the bunch gestured at the keg. "What's that for?"

"A small celebration. Red ale from the Shark and Sword." One shoulder shrugged. "It isn't Best Blonde, but it's what I could get."

They were nearly as happy about the beer as they were the silver. Hans waved toward a broken cupboard. "There are some glasses in there. Cleaned 'em off earlier. I think most of them will still hold a drink." He produced a tap and one of the men knocked it into the keg.

Shortly the baker's dozen of criminals were guzzling ale and smacking lips. When Hans had seen all of them take a drink, he stood straight, made an odd sign with both hands, and spoke a Word of Power.

Deep purple light flashed off the walls. The men stilled, mugs and glasses dropping to the packed dirt as their eyes dilated and their minds became _ever_ so very malleable.

"Now," announced Hans with a sly smile, "we will set things in motion. Meyer, follow me."

The nearest crook took jerky steps, trailing after Hans toward the back room. The rest of them stood immobile, faces blank, eyes unseeing, as a small, faint voice began whispering in their minds.

. . .

. . .

_Mikael Naismith's House – 4:00pm_

Carlos tapped the map with a fingertip and sat back in his chair with a grin. "Perfect. That should give your riflemen better than ninety degrees of overlap."

"And it covers every avenue leading to the cathedral. By Jove, man, I don't think a **rat** could slip by unnoticed! Brilliant!"

"I'm just glad you have the right men for the job."

"Hmm. As to that …" He ran a contemplative finger along his jaw. "It's not common knowledge, but two of my 'riflemen' are women."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"I had a man under my command, one Rolf Dahl. Good man. As trustworthy as the sunrise and twice as bright. He had a solid future ahead of him, moving up the ranks. First Mate on one of the frigates."

"What does that have to do with –"

Mikael held up a hand. "Rolf had twin daughters, no sons, and his wife died in childbirth. He raised 'em best he knew how, but let's just say they fell on the side of the fence away from 'genteel'. Both wiry and strong, and above average height – Rolf was eighteen hands, himself – and he taught the girls what he knew. And one of the things he knew was how to shoot. Bow, crossbow, dueling pistols, muskets, rifle … even the sling. He was master of all, and he trained them well.

"Then, as fate would have it, he died during a pirate attack."

"Oh! I'm very sorry to hear that."

"So were Alma and Bernice. They came to me after the funeral and, ah, _**insisted**_ that they be allowed to avenge him. Of course I wouldn't hear of it. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and a woman on board a ship is a bad omen. Just ask any of them."

"So what did they do?"

"Hacked off their hair, got some old clothes from a mountain man, and signed up as men."

"… Seriously? They got on a ship?"

"Didn't just 'get on'. They figured which one would be most likely to run into those pirates again, and made sure to be on it." Mikael rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers. "Well, sir, that ship did run into the pirates. Only this time there were _**two**_ pirate craft. Our boys were seriously outnumbered, but they were game to try a fight anyway. Only it never really came to that."

"Why not?"

"As soon as the pirates got within two hundred paces, Al and Bern opened up on 'em."

"… I'm sorry?"

"They had rifles, good ones. Each one chose a ship and started picking off pirates, starting with the captain of each."

"… Between ships? From _two hundred_ paces?!"

"It may have been a bit farther than that. Accounts varied."

"My word." Carlos thought to himself that he ought to be writing this down.

"One of the pirates tried to tack so they could present their guns for a broadside. Well, both girls turned their attention to the firing crews, shot 'em through the gunports. Killed better than a dozen. After that, we spotted a couple of 'em laying about with whips, trying to get the men back to the guns, but they weren't keen on that idea. Well, then, the crew on that ship mutinied, tossed a couple of the leaders overboard, and turned tail. Our boys were able to turn to broadside and give 'em a volley. Sank it. The other ship surrendered."

"Surrendered? Pirates? _**That**_ can't happen very often."

"No, but they didn't want to get blown to matchwood, either."

"So your men took them back here for trial?"

"Hah. No. There were about four-score of 'em left by that time. Our boys boarded. Then Al and Bern –"

"That's Alma and Bernice?"

"Right, right. But they adopted male names."

"Of course."

"Anyway, the girls demanded to know who had killed Rolf. Nobody knew who they were talking about. Al stuck a pistol in one of 'em's mouth and blew the back of his head off. After that, the rest of 'em turned out quite chatty. It transpired that the ship that had been sunk – and it went down with all hands – was the one responsible for Rolf's death. Both girls, I am told, visibly deflated."

"So what happened to the pirates?"

"Well, their ship was nothing we wanted. It wasn't big enough for anything except what they were using it for, shallow-draft sloop and their cannon were an odd bore, so our boys scuttled it."

"Hmm. No point in waiting on a hanging?"

"Precisely. Waste of perfectly good rope." He opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a box of cigars. Offering it to Carlos, he asked, "Do you indulge?"

"From time to time, thanks."

They both lit up. Then Mikael continued, "Well, Al and Bern were the heroes of the day. The boys hoisted them up and marched around with 'em on their shoulders for a bit … but then it came to light that they weren't exactly, ah, male."

"How did they know?"

"I understand you've been married before?"

"… Yes."

"Then you know what a woman's bottom feels like."

The Spaniard grinned broadly. "I see."

"Women simply feel different. Those carrying them – some of them, at any rate, the ones with a bit of experience – could tell."

"I guess they got in real trouble then."

"Shockingly, no. The other sailors talked it over and decided that any woman who could shoot like that was enough of a man that it wouldn't – or shouldn't – matter to the sea gods."

Carlos had to laugh at that … and he did. "So how did they end up on your rifle squad?"

"They were at loose ends. Father dead, and their skills, let us say, didn't lend them to domestic pursuits. All the local eligible bachelors were afraid of them – and rightfully so. They applied for a place in the Guard. I'd heard of how good they were with a rifle, and wanted to put together a Rifle Corps, and … well … they helped form the core of it."

"The core of your Corps? Shouldn't such puns wait until _**after**_ dinner?"

"Nothing affects my appetite, not even vulgar word-play. I'd think nothing would affect yours, either, with all you've been through."

"… True enough."

"So," concluded the Admiral, rolling up his map and wrapping a piece of ribbon around it, "it remains to pass out duties and get the various parties armed and placed."

"I could tell this wasn't your first time through on this exercise. Did you do this for Elsa's coronation, too?"

The gray head bowed briefly. "No. No, truthfully, I did not, to my eternal shame."

"Really? Why not? I'd have thought –"

"No. I was … constrained." Mikael frowned darkly at the memory of the events surrounding the coronation ceremony. "I felt at the time –and frankly still do – that if most of the Council and half of Arendelle's military, including myself and Captain Fjelstad, hadn't been stricken a-bed with fever, things would never have gone sideways in the first place, and we could have avoided all that Eternal-Winter unpleasantness."

"Fever!"

"Aye. Something like yellow fever, but we were never sure. All of us who grew ill were quarantined aboard a ship in the fjord, and that did stop the fever from spreading any further."

"So you were sick _**during**_ the coronation?"

"I was, and for a week afterward. The Queen had been gone for most of a day before anyone felt inclined to inform me, but even so I was too sick to rise. And no one told me she'd been brought back at all. The first I knew of it was when she thawed everything and suddenly I could see out the porthole."

"That must have been horrible! Elsa never told me … but then we haven't really had that much time yet to just sit and reminisce."

For a moment Mikael stewed silently, thinking of Hans and his perfidy, the Duke of Weselton and his thugs, and Arendelle's beloved Queen locked in the dungeon like a common thief. If only … "I do make the attempt not to feed my regrets, but that situation was simply intolerable."

"Hmm. So, if I have the order of events right – and I may not, so please correct me – Elsa revealed her powers at the coronation ball, then panicked and ran off to the North Mountain."

"Right. And Anna, impetuous thing that she is, followed her, or tried to. Tracking isn't Her Highness's strong suit, so she got lost … while severely under-dressed, I might add."

"And lost her horse, right?"

"Yes. It spooked, and threw her – yet ANOTHER point at which we could have had disaster – and ran back to the castle. But then she encountered young Bjorgman, who conducted her the rest of the way."

"… Wait. How did HE know …"

"He'd seen, from a distance, the magical light show when Elsa built her ice palace. He knew approximately where it was."

"Oh."

Giving his desk a hard rap with a fist, Mikael declared, "If only the fever hadn't come! The Council would have been in charge of caring for the kingdom in Anna's absence, not that insufferable Prince." (Mikael held no illusions about being able to STOP Anna from going after Elsa. She would have invoked rank. But HE would have sent some men along!) "Anna would have had loyal troops with her to begin with, and Elsa wouldn't have been attacked, and …" He fell into a brown study.

Summing up, Carlos said, "Things would have turned out very differently."

"At every turn," he muttered. "The whole shameful mess wouldn't have gone bollocks-up."

Carlos absorbed the information, fitting the pieces into his ever-growing mental landscape of Arendelle. "But then, perhaps Anna and Kristoff wouldn't have formed the bond that they did, and there would be no wedding tomorrow."

Mikael cocked an eyebrow at him. "You, sir, are a consummate optimist."

"Hardly. But what happened, happened. As a noted philosopher once said, we can never know what might have been, because that isn't what we have. The past is immutable. We can only go forward from here. Who's to say that if Elsa had been able to successfully hide her powers from everyone, some other evil may have befallen Arendelle that would have been even worse?"

"Aye, you've a point. No use complaining about what didn't go right."

"And from my own perspective, if she hadn't frozen the kingdom, I would never have heard of her, would never have come to see her, and we would never have met. I would CERTAINLY look on that as a disaster. I can't imagine life without her now."

"Heh. Fine for you, then."

"We are the sum of our experiences and how we have reacted to them. I'd say Arendelle's Queen has come through the refiner's fire triumphantly."

"True enough." Mikael glanced at the clock on his wall. "Hmph. Time for high tea."

"Yes. And I'm to meet with Elsa when she finishes that paperwork."

"And when is that?"

"She'll let me know."

The Admiral grinned. "On your private message service."

"It does come in handy."

"I've been thinking of some other uses for …"

"Please, Admiral, not just yet. She's still getting used to the idea that Arendelle might have to be involved in a war during her reign. Her father and grandfather were able to avoid that, and it is weighing VERY heavily on her mind."

"Yes, yes. That can wait, I know." He slapped his knees and stood. "Well, I'm off to the Raven's Rock for a bit of beef. Care to join me?"

"I never say no to food. It's against my religion."

. . .

. . .

**_(End Note: Luck favors the prepared ... but only if the preparation is aimed in the right direction. We'll just have to see how it goes, won't we?_**

**_Reviews = Love!_**)


	31. Culmination

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: I'm sorry. Please forgive me.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 30: Culmination**

* * *

_[[ Can we argue about this once we're back inside? ]]_

* * *

. . .

. . .

_Sunday 1 August 1841, 12:20pm_

Elsa stood on one of the high balconies, overlooking much of Arendelle city. Her eyes were open, but unfocused: she wasn't using them to see at present, though she peered around intently. Instead, the silvery otherwhere of the astral plane stretched out before her. Tiny, glowing forms moved slowly or swiftly to and fro, eddies and currents of power, emotion, or intent washing past. And this time, as with every other time she'd been through this exercise over the last day and a half, there was nothing to indicate that she should worry or fear.

Carlos stood to her side, similarly occupied, the fingers of his left hand twined with her right. Their combined powers meant that their field of vision extended much farther than simple human sight would have. For a good three leagues in all directions they combed the mindscape … and came up empty. There wasn't even anything petty going on. It seemed the entire kingdom had swelled with good wishes and cheer for Anna's wedding.

_[[ My Love, I think we may be wasting our time, at least for today. ]]_

A deep sigh preceded Elsa's answer. _[[ I believe you may be right. ]]_

They pulled themselves out of the astral plane, then turned and pulled each other into an embrace. The Queen breathed, "I can't say I'm sorry."

"So Morana's warning didn't apply to the wedding. I had more than half expected that."

"Yes, you said so. You said she might just be jerking my chain."

"Also true."

Elsa found it very comfortable, leaning against his chest this way, and snuggled in close. She realized how tense she'd been all day, so tense she couldn't properly appreciate Anna's festivities, and that, she reflected, was a darn shame.

Everything came together and worked with Swiss-pocket-watch precision. The Princess and the new Prince Consort recited all their lines perfectly, despite it being obvious that the rest of the world had faded to background noise as soon as they caught sight of each other from opposite ends of the cathedral. Anna had been resplendent, floating along on the cloud of light-cream chiffon and silk that comprised her gown, and Kristoff in his matching formal waistcoat and trousers cut a very striking figure himself, particularly given the top-notch treatment his hair had received from Anna's handmaiden. There was more than one high-born lady in the congregation giving him an appraising eye.

It was all very proper and staid and Lutheran, and there were the obligatory rote prayers and blessings and choruses, with lots of standing and kneeling and sitting and kneeling and standing again, much to the displeasure of certain more elderly guests.

But the point was that everything meshed. Nothing went wrong, and the happy couple ended up Joined In The Eyes Of God And Man, so Elsa had to count it all a win. She just wished, now, wistfully, that she could have allowed herself to enjoy it. Anna most certainly had.

_[[ Why don't we go on down and join the party? ]] _suggested Carlos, picking up on her melancholy.

Elsa leaned back just far enough to see his face. _[[ I'd like that. I'm reminded that Gerda set up a chocolate fountain, and there's a bowl of cherries beside it with my name on it. ]]_

_[[ Trust you to think of chocolate first. ]]_

_[[ Hey, in the list of the top ten reasons for keeping civilization intact, chocolate accounts for two of them! Four, according to Anna. Don't disrespect the chocolate! ]]_

_[[ Never crossed my mind. ]]_

Arm-in-arm, they strolled back inside, then made sure no one was watching before floating gracefully down the long, spiral staircase.

The Grand Ballroom was a huge, roiling, multi-hued sea of silk/satin/gold/silver-clad peerage. A small orchestra at the northeast corner filled the hall with subtle strains of a Mozart waltz. Elsa immediately spotted her sister, dancing (naturally) with her new husband, who held himself a great deal more comfortably than he had when he began his lessons some three months earlier. The pair glided smoothly across the floor, the focus of admiration of most who saw them.

As it turned out, almost everyone in attendance wanted to speak with the Queen about something, often hearty congratulations for Anna's nuptials, but occasionally concerning business of one type or another … or to size up the Spaniard who had managed to monopolize the attention of Arendelle's Queen, it being blatantly obvious that they were a couple. Many, many stories were currently circulating about his exploits, usually centering on how he'd saved Elsa's life during the assassination attempt, but some about the odd abilities he might or might not possess. And not a few simply wanted to meet the man who'd broken through the Snow Queen's legendary icy shell.

Nearly three-quarters of an hour elapsed between the time when Elsa and Carlos made their appearance and the moment when they arrived at the long, heavily-laden dessert table. The _hidalgo_ looked with interest at the chocolate fountain. Of course he was familiar with chocolate, as a confection and a delicacy, but this was the first time he'd seen it treated this way. "It's quite … pretty, I guess is the word." Tilting his head in Elsa's direction, he asked, "What is it for? Are we supposed to catch it in a cup?"

"Oh, no. It's not cocoa. It's actual, melted chocolate. Observe." She picked up a cherry by the stem and allowed the flow of chocolate to coat it thoroughly. Then, after it had dripped a bit, she lifted it to her mouth and pulled the candy-coated fruit off its stem. Chewing slowly, her eyes sliding closed, she finally sighed ... then perked up and handed Carlos a cherry. "You do one."

"I'm not really much of a fan of cherries. Too tart for my taste. But thanks."

"You silly, silly man. These are sweet cherries. See how dark they are?"

"… Okay. So?"

"They aren't the white or red kind. Those are for jelly or preserves or pie. These are grown to be eaten just as they are." Dangling the glistening fruit in front of his face she intoned in a mesmerizing voice, "Cherries … arrrre … gooood. Cherries … arrrre … sweeeeeet. Youuuu … waaannnnnt … cherrrrrieeees."

"Oh for the love of the Saints!" He nicked the cherry from her fingers and examined it, then sniffed it. "Smells like a cherry."

"I wonder why that is?"

"Really, I'm not at all fond of tart things."

"Then you should enjoy these immensely."

Pursing his lips, his gaze flicking from the cherry to Elsa's face, he finally shrugged and bit it. Three quick chews later, his eyes widened. "Huh!"

Elsa giggled and coated another one with chocolate. Then she directed an icy breeze down the stem to solidify the coating, and dunked it again, more than doubling the thickness.

Several cherries apiece later, Anna bustled up. "Oooo, you're doing that thing with the cherries! Sweet! I want one! No, three! No, five! Yeah, five!"

Kristoff scooped a plate off the table and held it out. "You might as well go ahead and fill it. She'll only be back to bug you for more in a minute or two if you don't."

His wife gave him a dirty look. She didn't contradict him, though.

. . .

. . .

_The Abandoned Stable, 12:54pm_

The second hand on his pocket watch passed the '12'.

At precisely six hundred and sixty-six minutes before midnight, Hans dropped the skin-wrapped bundle of a dozen crossbow bolts point-first into the cauldron. They had been carefully selected, and carefully altered, the iron heads pitted just so in order for the poison to adhere properly. This time there would be no mistakes, no room for human error.

No survivors.

Watching as the cauldron's contents changed from dark brown to a muddy green (Wait … wasn't it supposed to be a _bright_ green?) he frowned and then consulted the _Handbook_ again. He read through that section twice, comparing the description with the results of his labors. The sludge glowed slightly. Maybe that's what it meant by 'bright'? The **voice** had no comment on that.

After a few minutes of thought, Hans sighed and decided to just move on to the next stage of things: choosing and readying his four crossbowmen. The thugs stood in a tight group near the door, breathing slowly, their eyes closed, as they had for the last twenty hours. The **voice** was done with them for now. It remained to Hans to give them their final instructions. To begin the process, he had to enter each man's mind. The **voice** had shown him how …

. . .

. . .

_Arendelle Castle, 5:45pm_

Anna leaned up against one arm of the long divan in the center of the library, her feet in Kristoff's lap while he massaged them. They'd already been through the light harangue over why dancing for hours in heels was a bad idea when she hardly ever wore them in the first place. Now, though, she wasn't in the mood to argue. Her new husband's calloused fingers just felt so darned good against her aching toes, she wouldn't have moved for anything … unless he stopped. As it was, her head was tilted back, eyes closed, and occasional small moans and grunts of deeply-relieved pleasure escaped her lips.

Elsa bustled in and closed the door, then strode over to her sister. "I found the shoes you wanted." She held out a pair of off-white flats.

Anna opened her eyes and grinned. "Great. Thanks, El. You're my hero."

"I thought you just said I was your hero," objected Kristoff.

"You are."

"But … You can't have two heroes!"

"Why not? Is there a law?"

"There ought to be."

"Fine. You're my hero. She's my heroine."

"But …"

"Would YOU rather be my heroine?"

"… I don't think it works that way."

"Correct. So that means I'm right, so don't worry about it."

The ice-harvester-cum-Prince-Consort gave his new sister-in-law a harried glance. "I really thought she'd get better once the ring was on."

"Ha," responded the Queen, smirking, "very ha. That was wishful thinking at its worst."

"So I should just make up my mind to get used to her winning all the arguments?"

"Pretty much. For a Princess, she's awfully headstrong, not to mention _wicked_ smart. And, may I point out, you had fair warning. Yet you decided to bull ahead and marry her anyway, despite the obvious signs."

"Ah, well, as they say, marry in haste, repent at leisure. I suppose I'll just have to shoulder the yoke without complaint."

"Suffering for your kingdom, you are," Elsa deadpanned, fighting a grin with everything she had. "We should erect a statue."

Anna grumbled, "I'm right here. I'm not deaf."

Kristoff and Elsa finally released the laughter they'd been containing, and Anna joined them after a few seconds. Reaching over and tousling her husband's hair, the Princess stated, "I can promise you it won't be boring. Past that, you're on your own."

"I'll take it."

Carlos entered the room at that point. "I ran into Kai on the stairs. He said the Marriage Feast will start in an hour."

The two royal sisters rolled their eyes. "Joy." "Terrific."

The Spaniard grinned at them. "Try to contain your enthusiasm."

"We're tired!" they both said at once, then looked at each other and chuckled. "Well, it's true!" insisted Anna.

Elsa nodded, then gestured at the newlyweds. "They've got some conjugal bliss to catch up on, now that my sister's made an honest man of him. And I've had much MORE than my fill of blandiloquent nonsense from dignitaries who don't know anything about Arendelle, and care even less."

Kristoff raised an eyebrow. "Blan- … what?"

"Sorry?"

"That word you used."

Elsa thought for a second. "Blandiloquent?"

"Yeah, that."

"It means tepid, insincere flattery. You know. Unctuous prattle."

His other eyebrow joined the first near his hairline. "Unctuous?"

Anna patted his arm. "Just nod and smile, dear. She's showing off."

Elsa sent her a frown. "If the right word is available …"

"Yes, yes, I know, if it's there, use it. That's been your policy since we were kids." She waved at Carlos. "Papa had this great big, massive four-volume dictionary. I couldn't even _pick up_ any of 'em. It cross-referenced Norwegian, Latin, and English. Do you know that she read that entire, whole, complete, finished monster before she turned twelve? I remember. She wouldn't TALK to me, but she'd absorb WORDS like a sponge. In five languages … or was it six? When did you pick up Russian? Eh, no matter. But, seriously, what a waste! Talk about confusing your sister!"

"Just because _**your**_ practice seems to have as its object the cultivation of a deleterious effect on your lexicon via a dilettante approach to vocabulary – thereby exacerbating your linguistic nescience – doesn't mean-"

"Ack! No! Stop!" Anna waved her arms in surrender. "I give up! You win!"

Elsa grinned at her. "You asked for that."

Carlos blinked at his fiancée. His command of Norwegian was decent, but mainly conversational. "What did you just say?"

"She said," piped up Anna, "that she's smarter than anyone else in the room. By a damn sight."

"Oh." The Spaniard gave her a smile. "Well, a demonstration was unnecessary. I knew that already."

The light blush that infused Elsa's cheeks struck him as very fetching. "Oh, hush."

Anna pointed at her and hooted, "And YOU asked for THAT!"

"… Entirely beside the point."

"Well," interjected Kristoff, "if we have an hour, is there anything we need to do to get ready?"

Indicating her feet, Anna answered, "You're already doing it. Just do it more."

With a quick jerk of his head, Carlos caught Elsa's attention. "If _your_ feet aren't too sore, would you like to take a slow stroll around the garden?"

She walked over and appropriated his arm. "That would be lovely."

. . .

. . .

_Midnight_

Hans surveyed the crossbow bolts arrayed across the table in front of him, frowning darkly. _I know I followed the instructions. I __**know**__ it! I did __**exactly**__ what the book said to do._ His gloves were of thick pig skin, designed for use around a forge, but suitable for handling the poisonous darts. He nudged one of them back and forth absently. _Why aren't they glowing?_

In truth, four of them _were_ glowing, albeit faintly, but the other eight lay quiescent (although discolored by soaking for eleven hours in the greenish-brown sludge). Hans had hoped that the **voice** would volunteer an explanation. Maybe one of the proportions was off? _No! I know I measured everything correctly! I __**know**__ I did!_ Maybe one of the herbs was not quite pure? But … but each time he made an addition, the brew responded as it should. He glanced over at the girl's corpse, bloated and stiff now, and stinking badly. Maybe he hadn't caused her enough pain? But he'd kept her in exquisite agony for nearly half an hour. He huffed in frustration at that thought. He'd heard of professional executioners that could keep a victim alive and in soul-shredding levels of pain for upwards of two days. He wasn't trained in torture, and the **voice** had only given him a few suggestions.

Well. It couldn't be helped now. Even if the poison wasn't at full potency, it would still get the job done … though something still didn't feel quite right. It was as if the **voice** was not as pleased with him as it might have been. He gave an irritated sigh, rose and retrieved a pair of forge tongs. These he used to place three bolts, point-down, in each of four small, rawhide quivers.

Back out in the main room, he walked up to one of the semi-comatose men. "Per! Look at me!"

The swarthy little man opened his eyes. After a quarter-minute, they focused on Hans.

The former Prince handed him a quiver. "At two bells tomorrow afternoon, you will take your crossbow and these bolts, and you will climb the clock tower."

"Yes, Master."

"You will be disguised with an illusion. You will appear to be a young, attractive girl."

"Yes, Master."

"You will kill any man the Guard may have placed there as quickly and quietly as you can. The illusion will allow you to get in close. Then stay out of sight while you get your bearings. At that point, the procession will be somewhere between the Market and the Cathedral. You will then scan the crowd, locate Queen Elsa's carriage, and …"

. . .

. . .

_Monday 2 August 1841, 9:00am_

Anna pushed herself back from the table. "Oof. So full."

"No one put a pistol to your head and _forced_ you to eat the rest of the turnovers."

"But, Elsa! They were just … lying there! All alone!"

"And you don't HAVE to lick the platter clean at each meal."

"But … chocolate turnovers! _Chocolate!_ You weren't eating 'em!"

"I'm sure the kitchen staff would have finished them off if it came to that. They wouldn't have gone to waste."

Grinning widely, Anna replied, "But now they'll go to _**my**_ waist!"

"Not likely."

Put off by the lack of appropriate response to her pun, Anna pouted and asked, "Why would you say-"

"Anna, our rooms are not that far from each other. If last night was any indication, you'll need to _increase_ your food intake to keep up your strength."

Anna colored slightly, but stuck a defiant chin at her sister. "We're all nice and legal now."

"And energetic."

"Well … um …"

"And loud."

"Hey!"

"I'm considering some earplugs. I understand wax does a good job." She took a sip of her apple juice and asked, "Where is he, anyway?"

"Ummm … He was, uh, tired."

"Color me shocked."

"He said to get him up in time for the street fair." She rubbed her hands together. "And it starts in an hour, so I better go roust him out."

"No heels this time, remember?"

"Of course! Think I'm dense?" she said bouncing toward the door. "Don't answer that."

A fond smile following her sister, Elsa took a small sweet roll, finished her juice, and Sent, _[[ How's it going? ]]_

_[[ More like 'went'. I'm done. ]]_

_[[ Already? ]]_

_[[ The landscape is frightfully monochromatic. I've never SEEN a city so unremittingly cheerful. ]]_

_[[ Well, everyone loves Anna. You can understand why. ]]_

_[[ True. ]]_

_[[ Have you still not eaten? ]]_

_[[ I had a piece of dried fish and a beer when I got up. But I don't really usually get hungry until … eh, well … about now. ]]_

_[[ And here I sit, pining for company. ]]_

_[[ I'll be right there. ]]_

And he was.

. . .

. . .

_12:30pm_

"Please?"

"But, Anna, all the people want to see you."

"Pleeeeeeeeeese? PleasePleasePleasePleasePlease? They'll see me anyway, you know they will, and it's important to stay in close touch with the common folk, and this way they can talk to me, too, not just look at me like I'm some sort of museum piece! It'll totally work!"

Elsa tapped a dainty foot in mild exasperation. "The plan was for you to be part of the cavalcade. That's what everyone will be expecting. The announcements have been up for almost a week."

"Oh, Elsa," she said with a smile, gently patting her sister's cheek. "They know not to expect anything normal out of me. I _know_ you know that!"

Kristoff interjected, "She's got a point there."

Elsa glanced over at Carlos for some aid, but he just grinned and shrugged. Finally the Queen threw up her hands. "Sure! Whatever! These schedules mean nothing anyway, right? I mean, who reads them … besides the entire city?" She stalked off toward the kitchen, muttering, "There's not enough chocolate in the kingdom …"

. . .

. . .

_1:00pm_

Carlos stood up in the open carriage and surveyed the crowd, arms akimbo. "How in the world," he shouted, "is this cavalcade supposed to even _move_ in all these people?"

"What, they don't have parties in Andalusia?" Elsa shouted back with a smirk.

"Party? I wouldn't give you a rat's mangy tail for the difference between this mess and a full-fledged riot."

"Anna's only getting married once, Sweetheart. The people have every right to celebrate."

"Celebrate?!" He sat down next to her, wincing at a more-emphatic-than-usual crash of cymbals from one of the various marching bands. _[[ I've been in artillery battles that weren't this loud. ]]_

She patted his arm. _[[ It comes with the territory, my sensitive Darling. Just relax and enjoy it. ]]_

_[[ I'd enjoy it more without that chorus. ]]_

_[[ What they lack in talent, they make up for in enthusiasm. ]]_

_[[ And not one of them could carry a tune, even if someone managed to tie a rope around it. ]]_

Dropping a kiss on his cheek took only a second. _[[ My sweet curmudgeon. ]]_

He had to smile at her then. _[[ Yes. All yours. ]] _His fingers found hers and got comfortable.

The carriage lurched forward about two paces and stopped again. Carlos just shook his head. _[[ It's a good thing we don't have anything __**else**__ to do this afternoon. ]]_

. . .

. . .

_The Abandoned Stable, 2:00pm_

Hans nodded to himself in satisfaction. _Practically the entire population of the city is down at the waterfront, dancing like fools for that Ice Witch!_ There hadn't been a soul nearby since late morning, and he knew no one would be any time soon. He stared, unblinking, as the second hand on his pocket watch swept across the final few marks to '12'. When it reached that goal, he drew a deep breath and spoke a Word of Power.

Shock waves rippled out in all directions. Several shingles were knocked loose, and a fine fall of dust coated most surfaces in the stable. Now his illusions would take hold, and his ultimate plan would begin to congeal.

Chortling to himself, he muttered, "Show time!"

* * *

_City Wall, Watch Tower #2_

Roald Arnesen polished the lens of his rifle's scope (again) and sighted once more on the clock tower. He knew Bern was in there, and hoped he could get another glimpse of her through the large opening. His crush wasn't exactly a secret, but he was pretty sure _**she**_ didn't know about it yet, so she might have an unguarded moment or three …

He heard movement behind him. Someone was climbing the stairs, and not being subtle about it.

* * *

_Wool Merchants' Guild Hall_

The building itself was only three stories, but it was built on one of several promontories that broke the city of Arendelle into pockets, so Franz Foss had a commanding view of about half the town. _This is one of those few, rare times_, he thought, _that being in the Rifle Corps kinda stinks._ He'd tried to get leave to join the festivities. Erika, the glass-blower's daughter, had asked if he could accompany her, and nothing (well, almost nothing) would have pleased him more. He'd not had any quality female companionship since that barmaid from the Red Rook dumped him, and Erika seemed very curious about the sorts of things that went on between men and women.

A noise on the floor below drew his attention.

"Is anyone up there?"

He shot to his feet. A girl! And if she looked anything like she sounded, Erika could just wait! He propped his rifle against the wall and trotted over to the stairwell. There was a figure in the shadows about half way down. "Yes, miss?"

She looked up, locked eyes with him, and smiled.

Franz's mouth went slack as a faint roaring filled his mind.

* * *

_Roof Cupola on the Newest Dried-Cod Warehouse_

Haaken Stoen would rather have been just about anywhere else. The smell of the dried fish, even though most of it was packed away in barrels of salt, made his stomach turn. He got a lot of ribbing about his general dislike for cod, what with the last few generations of his family having fished for a living. But that, he would always retort, was why he joined the military. No one expected a rifleman to fish. Ever. And his wife, Kaija, hated the smell almost as much as he did, especially now that their second child was on the way.

_I never should have made that stupid bet with Bern_, he thought sourly. _Then I'd be in the clock tower, and she'd be here in the stench._

A board creaked on the floor below, startling him. Grasping his belt knife (ironically, a fish-scaling knife that had belonged to his father) he peered over through the manhole to see who was there, knowing already that no one _should_ be there. It was with great shock that he observed a buxom young woman attempting to climb the rope that was the only access. She wasn't making much headway.

"Miss?"

Soft, dark features turned up to him, and his heart flopped. _Good Lord, but she's beautiful! _He swallowed and stammered, "Y-y-you aren't supposed to be here."

"Some of your companions arranged for me to keep you company."

He tried to process what she'd said, but for some reason his thoughts were getting fuzzy.

* * *

_The Clock Tower_

Bernice Dahl's view of the proceedings was unmatched in the city, since practically the whole thing was visible from her current perch. The street fair was in full swing, and it seemed half the inhabitants of the kingdom had shown up to the party. Large groups of swaying dancers meandered through the streets and courtyards, flowing around the hawkers and buskers and merchants and stalls and performers and bands and on and on and on.

For a certain extroverted Princess it was a slice of Heaven, and she intended to take full advantage of the opportunity, dragging Kristoff along behind her in spurts of breakneck speed, stopping abruptly at the various merchants. From a distance, Bernice watched Anna's antics, a tiny grin on her face. She hoped she was lucky enough one day to meet someone like the ice harvester, someone who would love her just for her. Someone who would put up with her idiosyncrasies simply to remain in her presence. Anna was blessed, indeed, and shared her bubbly attitude with everyone she met, leaving smiles and well-wishes in her wake.

To someone of a more solitary bent, though, the miasma of good cheer had reached sanity-threatening levels. That's most of the reason that Bernice had worked so hard to get the clock-tower post. She had less-than-zero interest in shimmying along with the surging, screaming crowd below, and felt her talents would best serve the kingdom right where she sat, far enough away that noise was reduced to a dull roar. The Queen's carriage was still off on the other side of the Market, visible occasionally among the brightly-striped awnings of street stalls and the gray-brown slates of the permanent roofs. Idly, she pulled out one of her daggers and used it to pick at her teeth, wiping the result off on the sleeve of her uniform.

A subtle motion caught her attention, and her eyes darted to the large, round signal-mirror hanging on the wall by the observation window. In that reflection, someone stepped off the landing and into the room, a hazy shape who, Bernice knew, had no business being there.

The sharp-shooter leapt to her feet and whirled, drawing a second dagger. But then her jaw dropped open. A stunning black-haired girl stood there, holding a folded fan in one slim, brown hand. "What … how …"

"My deepest apologies, good sir," she intoned, her voice low and throaty. "Your companions sent me to keep you company." And she took a step closer.

She wore a white, off-the-shoulders peasant blouse cinched tightly at her narrow waist, and it showcased her impressive bosom nicely. Her skirt – if one wished to call it that – seemed to be made of layers of thin, vertical strips of light green satin that slid softly past one another, offering glimpses of shapely calves, slender ankles and dark, dainty bare feet with each movement. Bernice felt a sort of buzzing at the base of her skull, and a weird urge to focus on the girl's breasts, but she shook it off. There was something strange about … about …

Now, Bernice and her sister Alma had long since developed very keen What-Is-Wrong-With-This-Picture skills. She could tell something was up as soon as the girl spoke, addressing her as 'sir'. The other members of the Corps would have known better than that. Sure, they kidded her about dressing like a man, but a few frank conversations (and one embarrassing practical joke) had convinced them all that she wasn't into girls. Bernice glanced at the mirror, her eyes widening as she saw the intruder as a man … a short, ragged, filthy man holding a wicked dirk, not a fan. _Ah-ha! There's magic afoot!_ Turning her gaze back directly at the 'girl', she noted the menacing position of the 'fan', and the fact that 'she' had stepped even closer. _I think not. Time to fix __**that**__._ In one short, sharp motion she sent her left-hand dagger thudding into the intruder's near foot. That elicited a loud yowl of pain and sent 'her' stumbling to the floor, clutching at the limb. The figure dropped the 'fan', which took on its real appearance as soon as it left 'her' hand.

Silently congratulating herself for defeating the ruse, Bernice wasted no time in slashing her other dagger across the intruder's throat. That lifted the illusion … and that's when she noticed the crossbow and quiver, put two and two together, and jumped back to the window. Keeping an ear open to the possibility of someone else sneaking up the stairs, she grabbed a spyglass and trained it on the nearest of the vantage points that her squad was using. "Come on, Franz," she muttered, "please don't be dead."

It took a few seconds to bring the other post into focus, and when she did, a chill ran down her back. The figure in the attic window of the Wool Merchants' Guild Hall was a dead ringer for the 'girl' she'd just killed. And 'she' was loading a crossbow.

In less time than it takes to tell, she had her rifle steadied on its bipod, placed her scope's crosshairs over the neck of the other assassin, drew a breath, carefully released half of it, and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

_City Wall, Watch Tower #2_

It was with a high degree of incredulity that Roald watched as a black-haired beauty appeared in the door from the stairwell. She ran a sumptuous bare arm up the woodwork and said, "I was hoping I could get a good seat to watch the party. Would you mind sharing?"

At the sound of her voice, Roald's gaze became indistinct. She wanted to sit with him. That seemed … reasonable. He blinked a couple of times and smiled. "Sure. You can have the chair."

"Oh, thank you!" she breathed, her chest swelling at him. She sauntered across the narrow space, brushed a soft, rounded shoulder against him … and thrust a short sword up under his ribs. The look of shock on his face lasted only seconds until his eyes fell shut and he slumped to the floor.

Hurrying to the window, the assassin unslung the crossbow and quickly loaded one of the poisoned bolts. As soon as he touched it, his fingers started to itch. But that was of no consequence. _Now to locate the Queen's carriage …_

* * *

_Roof Cupola on the Newest Dried-Cod Warehouse_

The girl was obviously no Mistress of the Climbing Rope. Haaken shook his head. Keep him company? No. His mates in the Corps knew how much he loved his wife. They wouldn't have done that. He debated for only moments before stating, "Miss, you'll have to leave. I'm not allowed to have anyone else up here with me."

"Oh, but I'll be so lonely! If you could just help me up, I'll make it well worth your while."

That fuzzy feeling came back, even stronger. _Kaija!_ He repeated her name to himself. _Kaija! You love Kaija!_ It kept occurring to him that there was something weird about this situation, but it was hard to think …

Wait a minute.

He stood straight and wrapped his fingers around a small, silver cross he wore on a chain, grasped the climbing rope with his other hand, looked down at the girl, and began speaking: "Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name …"

At that point, the illusion crackled into a web of inky black veins and vanished. Haaken found himself staring into a pair of cold, gray eyes in a man's scarred and very much surprised face. The man fumbled at his waist for a pistol.

Haaken's pistol was faster.

Back at the window, he took a long, careful look out over the crowd, then at the clock tower. He saw the muzzle flash of Bern's rifle.

_So it wasn't just me!_

Each of them had been supplied with an alarm bell. He hung it out the window and shook it for all he was worth. Seconds later he saw Bern do the same.

* * *

At street level, the crowd noise set Carlos's teeth on edge. The cavalcade was supposed to take forty-five minutes to make a slow circuit of the town; they'd been at it for half an hour, and hadn't even made a third of the distance. The only redeeming factor in the whole sorry affair was that the people, all of them, very obviously loved their Queen and Princess, and weren't shy about saying so. Effigies of the royals were everywhere, as were amateur portraits of better or worse quality. At least he _assumed_ that some of the blotch-covered boards were supposed to be Anna and Elsa. The floor of the carriage was thick with garlands and bouquets that people had tossed to them. Through it all, their Queen maintained a bright smile and a cheerful wave, and a kind word to anyone who spoke to her.

Yes, the sound level was bothersome. Nevertheless, Carlos had been in enough battles and had heard the discharge of rifle fire often enough that he recognized the characteristic 'crack' over the rest of the ambient noise. Instantly he Sent, _[[ Someone just fired a rifle. Stay down. ]]_ And he pushed her into the floor of the carriage.

_[[ __**Me**__ stay down? __**You**__ stay down! ]]_ She grabbed his collar and pulled him down to even with the seat.

_[[ I'm not the one to be worried about, Elsa! ]]_

_[[ I'm warded! ]]_

_[[ So am I! ]]_

_[[ Your wards aren't nearly as … ]]_

_[[ Can we argue about this once we're back inside? ]]_

She glanced around. _[[ There's a leather store right over there. Let's head that way. ]]_

_[[ Now you're talking. ]]_ He tapped their driver on the shoulder and in a few tense words explained the situation. The Queen's Own Guard, who had been following almost lackadaisically (eh … as lackadaisically as they ever got) sensed something amiss and pushed through the press to get to them.

* * *

Three of the four crossbowmen were dead. The fourth didn't know that, and wouldn't have really cared if he had. He found his target, took his time lining up the shot, and let fly.

* * *

They were both warded. Elsa had insisted. Carlos had been compelled to do his own warding, though, since for some reason Elsa's wards tended to simply feed into his own magical field and disappear. Neither of them was all that happy with the result (she was by far the expert ward-crafter) but it was certainly better than nothing.

As it turned out, it was essentially the _same_ as 'nothing'.

He handed her down to the cobblestones, then stood to hop down himself when the bolt hit him in the middle of his back. He pitched forward, practically into Elsa's arms, the horrific pain reducing his vision to flashing black spots.

"**CARLOS!"**

Her scream alerted the crowd, and panic ensued. The Guard closed around the Queen and hustled them toward the castle. Some of them identified the direction the dart had come from and scanned the buildings …

The second bolt came in high, missing Carlos by a hand-span and striking one of the Guard instead. That man gave a short scream, crumpled into a heap, and lay still. His body immediately began to give off a dark, oily, and highly odorous smoke.

"He's in the Watch tower!" yelled the man beside the stricken Guard.

Six carbines trained on the tower.

* * *

The sudden change in the timbre of the crowd's noise caught Kristoff's attention, and he stood straight to look around. People were pointing, so he followed their gaze back toward …

_Oh, crap!_

Spinning around to where Anna was admiring a multicolored glass ball, he shouted, "Anna! Something's happening!"

Their Guard detail of four men formed up around them. The sergeant said, "We need to get you back to the castle, Your Highness."

They moved out at as fast a pace as they could manage, given the press of people, turning toward the water and the wide stone path that led to …

Anna heard a meaty, _**schlikk**_ sort of sound, and the Guard to her left went to his knees. She glanced his way, to ask him what was wrong, gasped when she saw blood spurting from his chest, and gasped again when something soft and sweet-smelling was jammed against her open mouth. Then everything grayed out.

Kristoff heard a similar sound as the Guard on his right fell out flat. He wasn't slow, and knew immediately they were under attack, whirled to grab Anna, and …

Something punched him hard in the gut.

There was a man standing in front of him. He hadn't been there a second ago. And suddenly Kristoff felt cold. Cold inside. And there was no air.

He couldn't draw a breath, looking down dumbly at the length of steel protruding from his abdomen. He raised his eyes to the man in front of him, little details fluttering absently across his mind: the missing teeth and broken nose, the shaggy hair and bad skin.

The man grinned wider, twisted the sword in Kristoff's gut, and yanked it out.

There was no air … still no air. Where did the air go? Then the pain, the starkly unbelievable pain, ground into him as the new Prince Consort slumped to his knees and toppled over onto his face, blood pooling rapidly around him.

. . .

. . .

**_(End Note: I realize that this is going to raise a few eyebrows here and there. All I ask is that you, my dear Readers, realize how difficult it was to write this._**

**_All comments welcome, even the ones that might singe my hair.)_**


	32. Agitation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**(Author's Note: I'm actually pretty excited that I got this posted only six days after that last one. Maybe it will mollify a few readers who have unabashedly THREATENED MY LIFE over the way "Culmination" ended. I hope.**_

_**Please hold all questions until the end of the tour.)**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 31: Agitation**

. . .

. . .

_Monday 02 August 1841, 2:05pm_

His second shot having missed, the assassin drew the last bolt from his quiver and placed it in the tiller groove, then wiped the sweat from his eyes with a shivering arm. The itch that had started when he touched the first bolt grew and intensified quickly; then after handling the second one, that itch became a burning that sped along under his skin until his whole body felt as if he were being roasted. Now, he could barely see to aim, and the powerful tremors racking his frame made holding the crossbow steady an impossibility.

A rapid volley of six bullets came in through the window, one ripping off half his left ear, another lodging in his right shoulder joint. The impact knocked him onto his back, where he lay in a spell of increasingly violent seizures.

By the time a pair of the Guard arrived a minute and a half later he had expired, but not from the bullet wounds. Even as they watched, his bright red skin began to spall off in irregular scales, accompanied by small puffs of a noxious, gray gas. Guessing correctly that touching him would be a bad idea, and being driven back anyway by the stench, they hurriedly returned to their comrades, confident that they could report him as very, very dead.

When the poisoned bolt struck Carlos, he was nearly killed outright, only being saved by his long association with his Fey nature, and the inherent toughness it had brought to his body over the decades. Still, he hung onto consciousness by the thinnest of threads, and only had one thought to transmit to Elsa before the darkness engulfed him:

_[[ … ley line … ]]_

Elsa's connection to him via their melded powers meant that she got a generous taste of what he felt. Her immediate reaction to that was to collapse to her hands and knees and forcefully expel the contents of her stomach over the cobblestones.

"Your Majesty!" One of the Queen's Own knelt by her.

A deadening malaise scrabbled and chewed at her mind. She fought it off, wiping at her mouth. "Get … Carlos."

"We have him, Your Majesty."

The pain was nearly debilitating, but she realized with more than a touch of dread that if she broke her connection to him, he'd be lost. "Take … to the castle … wine cellar."

"I … beg your pardon?"

"Wine cellar! Now!"

"Yes, Majesty!" He jumped up and gave quick orders to three men, who hefted Carlos and ran with him toward the castle.

Elsa stumbled along in their wake, but her legs felt like rolls of rotten parchment. Two of her Guard made a fireman's chair and scooped her up, running after the others. The people made way for them.

* * *

When the kidnappers attacked Anna and Kristoff, two of the guards went down right away. But the other two had enough of a warning that they were able to defend themselves. Later, they would try to describe the experience, but neither had the vocabulary needed to do so.

The attackers were not invisible. It was more like some kind of camouflage. They blended in with the crowd, and even when looking straight at them, they were difficult to see and even harder to concentrate on (right up until one of them actually got cut, which seemed to break the enchantment). Fortunately, the guards were much better swordsmen than the kidnappers. After about fifteen seconds of fierce fighting, at two-on-one odds for each guard, they managed to incapacitate one thug and kill another. The remaining two criminals broke off and fled, the guards hot on their heels.

They followed for nearly fifty paces before one said, "Go take care of Kristoff."

"But the Princess!"

"Karl, I'll follow them. We'll get her back."

"But …"

"I'm faster than you! Now get back there."

That seemed the best solution of the poor selection they had. Karl stopped and ran back to the scene of the attack.

An old, white-bearded man was stooping over Kristoff, and looked up at the guard, pointing at a small building behind him. "You need to get him into my shop! He'll bleed to death if I don't stop it."

"Who are you?"

"Erik Leydan. I'm an apothecary."

Karl turned Kristoff over and saw the wound, then gave the old man a meaningful glance. He'd seen such wounds before, and had one thought in response: _If he __**doesn't**__ bleed to death, in a few days he'll wish he had._ But they lifted him carefully anyway and carried him over to the apothecary. After a few steps, two bystanders came up and took Erik's place.

Inside, the old man had them lay Kristoff out on a table. He ripped open the fine jacket and linen shirt to expose the steadily-leaking hole, and then took a handful of a dark greenish-brown powder from a jar and jammed it inside.

Kristoff just about came off the table, groaned loudly once, and blacked out.

* * *

Outside, the one living kidnapper rolled on the ground, gripping his ruined hand to his chest and whimpering. He got to his knees … then noticed the crowd.

Several large men surrounded him. One had a pistol pointed at him, two had long knives, and a third was slowly smacking a cudgel into his palm. That last man stepped toward him, said, "The Cap'n's gonna want to talk to you," and crashed the club into the side of his head.

* * *

It took Elsa less than a minute to locate the ley line once they were in the cellar, and that's where she directed them to lay Carlos, on his side. The head of the bolt made a bulge under his coat just below his ribs to the left, and seeing it there nearly cost Elsa her sanity. But she fought down her gorge, centered her mind, and began weaving a ward. "Take his coat off. And shirt."

The Guards hurried to comply, and shortly Carlos's torso was bared.

Elsa nearly lost it again.

The skin around the point was black and crisped, and evil veins ran away from it in several directions. She knew immediately that a supernatural toxin was at work here, and knew better than to touch it. But it had to come out. "Sergeant Felix."

"Yes, Majesty?"

"Your gloves."

"… What about …"

She gritted her teeth as the ward completed, pulled her own healing aura out of her body, and sank it into the injured man. "Put … them … on."

"Of course." He understood what she wanted. "Back out or the rest of the way through?"

"Is the … head … barbed?"

He examined it briefly and nodded. "Afraid so, Majesty."

"Pull it through."

He snapped off the fletching as close to Carlos's back as he could, then tugged on the head. It didn't want to come out. It almost acted magnetized, and Felix had to actively wrestle with it to get it loose. By that point his gloves were giving off a few thin streams of smoke.

"Please … take it … far away. But don't … lose it."

"Yes, Majesty." He trotted out.

The other two of the Guard who had come along looked at each other and then at her. "Ah … do we, um, need to get the chirurgeon?"

"No." She bent her will to incorporating the ward into the lines of poison, but it resisted.

"… But …"

"This … is evil … magic. He couldn't … do … anything … for Carlos."

"As you say, Majesty." They stood by, watchful and ready for whatever she might need.

* * *

Gradually, painfully, Kristoff's thoughts came back to him and his eyes slitted open. His midsection was a writhing mass of agony.

He had seen over the man's shoulder, just as his blade went in, Anna struggling to break free of her captor. The man holding her had a cloth over her mouth. Kristoff didn't understand what that was about. All he could think of was that someone had Anna. Someone was threatening his wife, maybe intending to kill her. That knowledge was not-so-slowly driving him out of his mind. He had to get to her, had to protect her, had to save her.

The pain kept him flat. He couldn't even lift his head.

Voices. There were voices mumbling. He concentrated, and the random rumbles settled out into words.

"… through his guts. Probably got a kidney, too. It's a mess."

"Poor bastard."

"Yeah. And poor Princess Anna. If he don't live, she ain't gonna want to, either."

"If the Guard can get her back, you mean."

"They'll get her, Jurg." There was the sound of a hand clapping a back. "As soon as they get word from the Queen."

"Why would they wait? And what kind of word?"

"She's magical."

"Um …"

"She's got a special connection with her sister. She'll know where Anna is. Then the Guard can track those sons-o-bitches and take her back."

"And kill 'em."

From a different direction a louder voice growled, "Damn straight." Kristoff thought that might be one of the Guards that was with them.

Unbidden, a memory came to him from a few years back. One of the harvesters (Liam? Lon?) had done a crap job of checking how thick the ice was. When he drove his team out onto it, the ice cracked. The back of the sled sank into the water, the horses panicked and pulled, and the sled was suddenly a wild mule bucking under him. Lon got thrown into the air like a rag doll when the sled caught on another piece of loose ice, and came down on the end of a runner. It went into his lower back and came out just above his groin, but really it was the same kind of wound Kristoff had. Lon developed peritonitis, then gangrene, then died after two days of agony.

Kristoff knew, rationally, that was what awaited him. He knew his wound was mortal, if not today, then in a few.

He didn't care. All he could think of was Anna, legs flailing, held off the ground by a leering thug with a rag over her mouth.

He had to save her. He had to find her. She was his … his duty to protect. His wife.

His beloved wife.

His very life.

Tears leaked down the side of his face.

He couldn't so much as lift his head.

* * *

She was making this up as she went.

Every shred of concentration Elsa possessed was focused on keeping the eldritch poison contained. It wanted out; like a rabid thing, it clawed and strained at her control, fracturing her ward and making her rebuild it time after time after time after …

This battle consumed her. Saving this man, preventing his death, was not just her Most Important Thing. It had quickly become her ONLY thing.

She held the healing aura in place the whole time, and that seemed to be the one barrier keeping the poison from spreading farther than it had already. He was breathing now on but one lung because she had sequestered the injured one; the sucking chest wound, normally mortal all by itself, wasn't helping, so she isolated it. Thanks be to Providence the arrow had missed his heart. She could 'see' that organ laboring with each beat, plagued as it was by the faintest traces of the hideous toxins that had reached it, and she bent her will toward cleaning the rest of them out.

The work was exhausting, and Elsa suspected strongly that if she'd not been right there in the ley line, she would have already collapsed. As it was, sweat drenched the fine silk of her bodice. And she had never been known to sweat. But then, fear had never been quite this real and present before.

Doggedly she kept at it, ferreting out the poisons, going practically cell by cell through the form of the man who had come, in a very short time, to embody the ideals of romantic love in her mind.

She wouldn't lose him. She would not.

. . .

. . .

_2:58pm_

Although it spread across the city like an evil wind, news of Anna's kidnapping didn't reach Elsa for almost an hour. Very few knew where she'd gone, though nearly everyone knew of the attack. It was Gerda who finally located her, stopping short at the door to the chamber and gaping at the sight of Elsa's all-too-visible magic wreathing the injured man.

"Your Majesty!"

"Not … right … now … please."

"But, it's Anna!"

Elsa's heart came to a dead stop. _Oh, please Dear God, no!_ Haunted eyes sought Gerda's.

Carlos's breath stuttered and Elsa turned as much of her attention as she had back to him.

Gerda took a step into the room. "Anna's been kidnapped."

_Kidnapped?_ "Not … shot?"

"No, Majesty. They carried her off, but she was uninjured." Gerda fiddled with her dress a moment. "But, ah, Kristoff … that is, the Prince Consort … he, ah …"

Thinking about it much later, Elsa recognized that minute – that very moment – as one of the lowest points in her life. Lower, surely, than her parents' deaths. Lower than realizing she'd frozen Arendelle and had no idea how to fix it. As low, perhaps, as that instant on the fjord when she thought she'd frozen Anna forever. Her soul-mate was trying to die right in front of her. Her beloved sister was in the hands of her enemies. And her sister's true love …

Never taking her eyes off Carlos, she swallowed and asked, "What of him?"

"He was … stabbed. He … they took him to an, an apothecary and-and they got the bleeding stopped, mostly, but he's …" Gerda dropped her eyes, her heart breaking over what she had to say. "The chirurgeon is tending him now. He says … says his injuries are very grave. He … he thinks Kristoff might … that he might not …"

"Don't."

"I'm sorry, Majesty."

_Anna!_ Elsa's anguish was bottomless. _Anna! I have to rescue her! And save her love!_ She chanced a quick look Gerda's way. "Have the Guard … tried …?"

"They lost her. The ones, the kidnappers, the Guard said they were hard to see. The Captain suspects magic."

At that point the air took on a hazy quality, a low humming came to Elsa's ears, and Morana stepped out of the near wall.

. . .

. . .

_An hour's travel away …_

Anna had never been this tired before in her life.

She was an active girl, always had been, and running was a joy (most of the time). Running meant going toward something she wanted, or wanted to do. Running was an aspect of play. Running might mean she was getting away from the 'scene of her crime' while carrying forbidden truffles, or trying to be somewhere else when Gerda discovered the spilled paint, or … anything, really, as long as there was an element of fun.

But this wasn't fun. Running had never hurt before. And she'd never had to run over uneven, rocky terrain in delicate slippers before. And she'd never had to run with her hands tied in front of her before. And she'd never had to run for three quarters of an hour without stopping before.

Exhaustion was robbing her of her vision. The inevitable happened: she tripped over a knobby root and fell to her length on the rough ground.

The man holding the other end of her rope was jerked to a stop. "Bitch! Get up!" He moved to kick her.

The group's leader, a man whose name, ironically, was Kristoff, stopped him. "She tripped, you idiot. Let's all stop for a minute. We're far enough away now, and we lost 'em a long time ago."

One of the others agreed. "Yeah, Bengt, I gotta take a dump."

Two more chorused in agreement.

Bengt looked at Anna, who was weakly trying to sit up, and shook his head in disgust. "Bunch o' candy-asses. Fine. Go spread your shit all over the woods." He strode over to a fallen tree and sat, pulled out a flask of _akvavit_ and took a long swallow.

The leader held a canteen out to Anna, but her hands were tied close to her waist as well. She couldn't reach it. He stepped next to her and motioned for her to tip her head back and open her mouth. That way he was able to pour a decent bit of water into her mouth. She nodded her thanks and slumped.

Surveying their path, Kristoff said, "I'm gonna go scout out the trail ahead." Pointing a finger at Bengt, he added, "You! Leave her alone. We're supposed to deliver her more or less intact, remember?"

"Whatever."

"No, not 'whatever'. We get paid to do a job, and I mean to see it done right."

"Candy-ass."

"Asshole."

"And proud of it." He pulled his hat low over his eyes and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Go tend to your shit. I got this."

The other two members of the gang decided to wander down toward the fjord. Anna stood and shook one leg, then the other, then she looked over at Bengt. He had his eyes shut under the brim of his hat. Slowly, carefully, she looked all around. The three who had left to take care of their bowels were still out of sight. The ones walking down to the fjord were still visible, but out of earshot. The leader was walking briskly away, already a good two hundred paces distant.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, recalling several memories and going over them. Then she looked down at her close-bound hands and allowed a small, frustrated sigh to escape. Well, it couldn't be helped.

She edged slowly and carefully over closer to her captor, judging the distance, testing her balance. She was so tired her legs were trembling, and she wouldn't get another chance if …

Steeling her nerves, she tried to remember everything that Sergeant Ole had demonstrated, spun on the ball of her left foot, and crashed her right heel into Bengt's temple.

He was sturdier than he looked, and didn't move as much as she'd thought he would, and that cost her what remained of her balance. She toppled over, rebounding, and landed across his extended leg with her full weight.

There was a stomach-churning crack, and his knee buckled … the wrong way.

But at least he didn't make any noise. She got back on her feet, awkwardly gathered up the rest of the rope he'd been holding so she wouldn't trip over it, and ran back the way they'd come as fast as her exhausted limbs would let her.

. . .

. . .

_In the wine cellar_

Elsa didn't cease her efforts. The poisons were many, and evil, and Carlos profoundly unconscious. His personal healing aura still had yet to make an appearance …

Morana glanced around and chuckled quietly. With a careless wave of her fingers, Gerda and the other two simply stopped, mid-motion. Turning to Elsa, she commented, "My, my. You've gotten yourself in quite a pickle here, little Queen."

Elsa felt the chill all the way to her marrow. "Lady Morana." What could the Fey possibly want with … _oh, no._ Her eyes grew wide and bleak as the obvious answer came to her. She remembered what Carlos had said about accepting a boon from one of the immortals. Is that what she was doing here? Striking during this crisis to get Elsa in her debt? "I … beg your … pardon, My Lady, but … I am somewhat … engaged."

"I can see that." She touched a tapering finger to Carlos's forehead. One eyebrow quirked up. "Well. Someone hated him rather a lot."

"Why do you … say that?"

"I don't believe I've encountered such a virulent combination of poisons ever before … and that is saying quite a lot. It took creativity, access to some fairly esoteric herbs and creatures, and a truly astonishing overburden of hatred to come up with this. Very impressive."

"Very … evil … you mean."

"Evil?" She smirked. "How would you go about defining evil, little Queen? That which discomfits you?"

"No!"

A desultory shrug. "That's how most people define it."

"Evil … is when … harm is caused … to the innocent."

"The innocent? My sweet, little Queen, are you not a follower of the White Christ?"

Elsa knew what the Fey meant by that question, though she had to wonder what she was getting at. "I am."

"Then you already know that no one is innocent." She ran that same finger down the side of Carlos's face. "Least of all, this one. Have you any idea how many have died at his hands? I doubt he, himself, even has an approximate count! Why, it must be in the thousands! Innocent? There are millions gnawing off their tongues in the fires of your God's Hell with purer hearts than his."

"And yet … he saved my life … at great risk … to his own." Carrying on a conversation, even one as necessary as this, was a tremendous difficulty while molding and directing her ward. She had to follow the paths of the blood, reach into each organ, each lobe or pocket, each tiny vessel, identify what was attacking the tissues, and draw it out. And the poisons, defying all reason, seemed to have individual, evil intent.

The immortal made a _tsk-tsk_ noise. "So you have a life-debt. That does not make him a good man." Her generous mouth curled into a grin. "Doubtless he thought that putting you in his debt would convince you to part with your virginity. Perhaps even put him on the throne."

"He … doesn't care about … the throne. He's already … richer than my kingdom."

"… Indeed? Well, well. Quite the self-made man, so it seems."

"My Lady," Elsa pressed, drawing a ragged breath, "is there something … I can do for you? Because … I am a bit … preoccupied. And there is still … my sister … to rescue."

"Ah, yes. Dear, dear little Anna, rutting with her lover on the eve of her wedding." The light tone stood at odds with her wording. "How very … innocent."

"My Lady …"

"Oh, don't take offense. I'm just teasing."

Still torn between duty to her fiancé and duty to her sister, Elsa dripped tiny shards of frozen sweat on the cold floor. Coming in contact with a particularly horrid neurotoxin, she elected not to answer the Fey.

Morana stated, "You won't find her, you know."

"… Watch me."

"Not without my help, if I'm any judge of things."

"I will save her. And Carlos. And Kristoff."

"Eh. You might. And you might not. Would you care to take that chance?"

"My Lady … Morana … when we first met … you were eager … to take my life … simply for existing. You will pardon me … if I do not believe … that you have … my best interests at heart." And Elsa turned her full mind to her task.

The Fey said nothing in reply, merely watching Elsa as she worked for a few minutes, a tiny frown on her flawless forehead. At length she reached out and brushed a couple of fingers across Elsa's brow.

The rush of information was instant and almost debilitating. Her ward wavered. Carlos made a choking sound around a gasp; pink foam flecked the corners of his mouth. But suddenly Elsa knew what to do. She held her primary wards in place and began weaving another one, fingers and lips moving almost too quickly to follow. The air around the wounded man took on a silvery glow which gradually faded to opacity. Carefully she backed away, feeling around the edges of the time field, finally satisfied that he was in complete stasis. She stood straight for the first time in over an hour, brushed her limp and sweat-dampened hair out of her face, and looked at Morana. "You helped me of your own free will."

A short nod was all the answer she got.

"Why?"

"You are an interesting person, Elsa of Arendelle. I am curious to see what you make of yourself. But if you lose the ones you so intensely love, you will quickly fade and pass on. That would be much less interesting."

"… Very well. I can accept that." She carefully kept any hint of gratitude from her words, though her heart was filled with it nearly to bursting.

Morana waved her off. "Go on. Save your family."

Elsa bolted from the room.

. . .

. . .

**_(End Note: So, it looks like the exigencies of the situation have taught Elsa a few new tricks. I'm curious to see what ELSE she might pick up._**

**_Reviews = Love!)_**


	33. Determination

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: "Show no mercy." Sometimes that is simpler and easier than at other times. Sometimes, it isn't even a chore at all.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 32: Determination**

. . .

. . .

_Monday 02 August 1841, 3:15pm_

Transporting Kristoff – very carefully – to the castle infirmary took more than a quarter of an hour, but his medical attendants were that concerned. The chirurgeon had done what he could, which frankly wasn't much. He confirmed that the right kidney was punctured (ripped nearly in half, to be honest) and that he could possibly take a chance on removing it … but the operation would result in quite a lot of bleeding, and the man had already lost so much blood. It made the doctor more than a little nervous to contemplate. But he also fretted that the kidney might not heal, and there was the very strong possibility of gangrene. He had, at least, managed to get a dose of laudanum into him …

That was the news Elsa received when she got to the infirmary. Standing there, outwardly calm and with a neutral mask on her face, she could easily see how much it pained the physician to tell her, and how skeptical he was of Kristoff's survival. Keeping her own emotions in check, even with her vastly improved control of late, took most of her concentration.

She wished fervently that she'd be able to give him some hope for the young man's life. Straightening the kinks out of her back, she went on into Kristoff's room.

_He was cold. So very cold. Though the land stood in the middle of high summer, Kristoff had never before felt this cold, even in the many winters he had spent on frozen lakes, sawing ice into blocks. It only made the contrast with the searing pain in his gut all the greater._

_Someone was calling his name. He thought he knew that voice. Elsa? Is that her name?_

Elsa had realized upon first getting the news of the attack that if Kristoff died, she might as well just shoot Anna, because she would be PAST inconsolable. That, she knew, was simply not an option.

Removing the bandages that tightly wrapped Kristoff's midsection wouldn't be necessary. She slipped into the astral plane, and used the properties of that remarkable place to look _inside_ the grievously injured man.

Necessity being the mother of invention, this was an ability she had developed just within the last hour while working so very desperately to save Carlos's life. She'd taken her basic healing aura that Carlos had taught her, and reinforced and expanded it, adding power and nuance and esoteric abilities that even Hamaraja hadn't considered (he'd never had reason to). In the case of the crossbow bolt, she'd had to track down a variety of demonic poisons and extract them cell-by-cell, repairing the damage they'd done as she pulled back. It had been agonizingly slow and maddeningly difficult, as the toxins seemed to have evil intent all their own. Here, that was not the case, and it suddenly felt almost ridiculously straightforward. There was damage, yes, but it was all just … physical. Structural. Nothing was actively opposing her. She wove her healing ward and encased the lacerated kidney, brought the severed edges together, coaxed the cells to get reacquainted, and they readily agreed. The repairs to the bowel were even easier to effect.

In a matter of minutes there was no indication, apart from bloodstains on his skin, that Kristoff had ever been injured.

Elsa's couldn't help a crooked grin. That felt _good!_

The man stirred and opened tired eyes to peer at her blearily. "Elsa?"

"Just rest, Kristoff. You're healed. But you've lost a great deal of blood."

_Ah. Well, of course, _his mind muttered at him. _Swords did that, didn't they? That would explain why I still feel like a sick kitten. But that isn't the important thing._ He gasped, "Anna …"

"Yes, I know." Her gaze focused and hardened. "I'm going to go get her."

"They … took her … those men … got to find her …"

"What YOU need to do is rest. I will find my sister. And I will bring her back to you."

He tried to raise a hand toward her, but the arm trembled so much that Elsa reached out and grabbed it. She gave it a squeeze and a pat, laid it across his stomach, and said, "Just sleep. Anna is going to lose her mind when she sees you like this, you know she will, so you'll need to rest up. Just trust me."

"… Okay." His eyes slid shut and he drew a long breath.

Elsa left the infirmary, walking to the nearest window to open it, and created an 'ice-lift' that quickly raised her to a dizzying height above the city. Then she opened her mind to the astral plane. _All right, Anna, where have they taken you?_

The silvery landscape rolled away and away and away. She knew her sister's aura, could recognize its signature instantly. It would be no trouble to find her …

After searching the whole area of the city, and well beyond its walls, she began to get worried. _It's been over an hour. How far could desperate men, dragging a reluctant captive, go in that time?_ A quick calculation did not set her mind at ease. _I … I can't see that far. Not without Carlos._ She was torn. She had no idea how long it would take her to heal him, once she lifted the stasis field, but if the past hour had been any indication … a long time.

Anna might not **_have_** much time.

She calmed herself (or gave it a shot, anyway). She'd be no good to Anna if she ended up screaming and running in circles … though the thought was getting more attractive by the minute.

_Think, Elsa! What can you do?_

Racking her brain for a clue, she tried looking at the problem from a couple of new angles. How would she go about it if she didn't have her magic? How would a normal, one-hundred-percent human investigator find the girl? That's when Morana's words came back to her:

"_You are going to be tested."_

"… _Tested?"_

"_Yes. You won't like it.  
You will need to make some crucial decisions,  
and make them quickly.  
Lives will hang in the balance,  
lives that are important to you.  
And you will need to dispense with mercy.  
If you hesitate …"_

_Fighting down a chill, Elsa prompted, "Yes?"_

"_It will go badly for you."_

Trying to control her panic, she realized that she really DIDN'T have much time. This situation was obviously that 'test' the Fey had mentioned. But there had to be a way … something she was overlooking.

… Wait.

Overlooking.

Looking over?

Could that even work?

Staring at the sky, Elsa gathered a large, blue ball of magic into her hands, concentrated for a long moment, and then spiked it with her will. A shower of snowy sparks settled out to reveal a falcon of blue ice perched on her arm.

Drawing a long stream of air in through her nose, she breathed a quick prayer and passed her fingers over her creation's eyes. When her hand moved away, two keen, black orbs stared back at her.

It was like looking into a mirror. She could see herself in the bird's mind.

Smiling grimly, she raised her arm high and whispered, "Seek."

The creature took off as if shot from a bow.

Five minutes later, she had eight of the sentinels scouring the land in all directions, which was as many as she could reasonably concentrate on. And a falcon moves much, MUCH faster than a man.

. . .

. . .

Thin branches of fir and beech snapped and stung at Anna's face as she ran, the agonized yells fading away behind her lending her reserves of speed she'd not suspected she possessed. She tried to use her bound hands to protect herself, but the short cord running from her wrists to her waist prevented that, and it took all the concentration in her terribly exhausted frame to keep from tumbling down the steep slope. Surely there was a path around here somewhere! She'd not been this far from Arendelle but a handful of times in her young life, but she'd heard enough stories to expect some kind of …

A rough curse behind her – much too _close_ behind her – brought her back to the here and now. They were fast. Too fast. Frantically she looked right and left, taking notice of a fallen tree just up the slope. She struggled through the brush, trying to avoid the yellow-flowered furze for fear of its prickles, and almost succeeding. She picked up a thorn in her right heel and had to bite her lip to keep from screaming at the pain. What was left of her shoes didn't offer much protection; her feet were bleeding already. Quickly making herself as small as she could, she hunkered down and waited while the half-dozen men crashed by her hiding place. Once their sounds tapered off to the west, she popped up and headed back the way she had come, limping slightly from the wound in her foot.

"There she is!"

_Crap_.

She crabbed along as fast as she could over the rough ground, through the dense undergrowth, fighting the steep grade, and praying hard for a miracle.

But it was not to be. The men gained steadily and finally one of them grabbed her by a braid, jerking her neck painfully. She was spun around to face the seething countenance of the gang's largest member. He drew back his other hand and struck her across the face hard enough to break the skin on her cheek. Her world filled with flashing lights and the hollow sound of rushing water as she slumped to her knees, her final shreds of strength utterly spent.

The man dropped her braid and grabbed her by the neck. His huge hands easily circled her slim throat, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. Yanking her up until their faces were a mere hand's breadth apart, he growled, "My brother! That was my brother, you little bitch! You broke his knee!"

The gang leader came up then and noticed Anna was beginning to turn blue. He punched the other man's arm. "Don't kill 'er. She ain't no good to us dead."

His grip relaxed and Anna drew a ragged breath and coughed, tears springing to her eyes. She had told herself she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't show any fear. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction. But it wasn't working out quite that way: she was terrified, and too tired to dissemble any longer.

"Yeah." He glared at the girl in hate. "Yeah, you're right." He grabbed her bound hands and nearly crushed them in his fist. She gave a gasp of pain and a low moan. "But y'know what? They'll want her back just as bad if she's minus a few fingers."

She looked up at him, crying freely now, and whimpered, "No. Please. Please don't do this."

He pulled a long knife from his boot, laid her hands over a nearby tree trunk, and raised the blade high …

"If she blacks out, **_you_** get to carry 'er."

The big man hesitated, gritting his teeth so hard they almost cracked. His eyes shot between Anna and the other man a few times, then he growled low in his throat. "I don't care! She's gonna pay!" He brought the knife down hard.

Anna suddenly curled her fingers up into fists. The knife shaved skin off two knuckles and she screamed in pain.

Kris grabbed the man's arm. "Thad, stop it. We're already losin' time 'cause _stupid Bengt _couldn't be bothered t' pay enough attention to a slip of a girl t' keep 'er from puttin' his lights out. You get stupid, that's what happens. Do you wanna get paid or not? And remember, it's gettin' split _eleven_ ways now, not thirteen."

Thad's glare should have peeled the skin off the other man's face. He threw Anna on the ground and drew back a foot for a kick.

"You _really_ wanna have to carry 'er?"

The big thug screamed his frustration and grabbed Anna's rope, jerking her to her feet. "Stupid bitch! I'll run yer goddam legs off!"

There was a faint trembling in the ground. Kris realized he had been feeling it for … well, he wasn't sure how long … but it seemed to be getting stronger. He looked up, thinking maybe it was distant thunder, but the sky of Arendelle was a flawless blue. "Hey, Thad, you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

He frowned and stared at the rocky ground. "That some kinda earthquake?"

"How would I know? I ain't never been in a earthquake."

One of the other men yelled, "Holy shit!" and yanked out his sword. The rest of them quickly followed suit.

A gargantuan spider of blue ice was bearing down on them at speed, jarring the earth with each step.

The huge conveyance slowed when Elsa noticed that one of them was holding Anna's restraining rope. It paused some thirty paces from the slack-jawed group, then sank to the ground, allowing the Queen to step off. She walked, her stride careful and methodical, until she was nearly among them and they all had weapons pointed at her. Taking a slow survey of the assembled kidnappers, Elsa whispered to herself for a moment. The day was bright enough that none of the men noticed the slight golden glow suffusing her hands.

The one holding a dagger to Anna's throat had a deep scar on his right cheek that twitched when he said, "Back off, Ice Witch, or I'll tickle her brain wi' me knife."

Elsa gave him a steady, neutral stare, probably the most unnerving thing she could have done. "I can see I need to get someone to manage the stories floating around about me … perhaps write a book."

"… Huh?"

"As I've stated many, many times, I am no witch."

"Sorceress, then. It don't signify if she dies, now do it?"

"And what, pray tell, do you think will happen to you if you kill her?"

Anna drew a quick breath and said, "Elsa, please … don't antagonize the nice man with the big, shiny knife."

The other men began to close in cautiously around Elsa. She ignored them utterly. "My question remains, sir. Let's assume that you lose patience or trip and fall or have a spasm, and you plunge that blade into my sister. What do you think would happen to you after you no longer have her as a viable hostage?"

"… I … I don' think you wanna find out."

One man who had crept up quite close behind her jerked forward and stabbed her in the back … or tried to. As soon as the tip of the short sword contacted the wispy blue fabric, it vanished into a small, glowing portal, the exit of which just happened to center on the back of the man's neck. He made a low, guttural noise as the blade erupted just above his sternum. He crumpled to earth and lay still.

The other men hurriedly backed away.

"Actually," answered Elsa in a deadpan, ignoring the attack utterly, "you are correct. I don't want to find out. Because, you see, she's my sister and I love her. And I would do anything … and I do mean anything at all … to protect her."

"Yeah … well … if you wan' her to stay alive, you do like I say an' you get the hell outta here."

"It is a very interesting thing, don't you think?"

"… Huh? Whatchu talkin' about?"

"It is interesting that, although we are both speaking the same language, you don't seem to be comprehending anything I am saying." She took a step forward, her frown achieving 'scary as crap' level. "I will use words of single syllables this time. Let my sister go right now, and I will make your death quick and clean."

He licked his lips with a tongue suddenly dry.

"Hold her for another quarter-minute, and you will know pain such as no mortal should have to endure."

He glanced around at the other men. Two of them had disappeared and the rest were shuffling rapidly away. "… I … you're bluffin'."

"Have it your way. Remember, this was your choice."

"What are you …" He got no further. The knife against Anna's jugular was now welded to his hand by the heavy ice encasing it, and lancing, blinding, festering pain invested every bone in his body. The agony was starkly indescribable, and he collapsed to the ground as if his string had been cut, unable even to draw a breath for the scream he so desperately needed.

Anna wobbled and pitched forward, but Elsa was there to catch her. "Don't worry, Sweetie, I've got you." She held her tightly, a few tears squeezing from between her lashes. "I've got you."

Anna glanced down at the man who had held her. He was practically vibrating in soul-searing, all-consuming pain, still unable to control his diaphragm well enough to get air to his starving lungs.

"Elsa?"

"Yes?"

"What did you do to him?"

"I'm not quite finished. I'll explain in a minute." She closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment and seeing via other avenues.

Anna heard shouting getting louder and raised her exhausted head … then dropped her jaw open. "Elsa? Are those yours?"

"Yes, Sweetie. That's my clean-up crew."

The Princess watched with round eyes as several … _things_ ambulated toward them. They were nearly two man-heights from the top of their, um, 'heads' to the needle-like tips of their multiple legs. One thought that popped into her head was 'canary cage'. The central portion of each creation was constructed like a short-but-man-sized cell of that hardened, blue solidified water Elsa had become so adept at producing. And in each one crouched a kidnapper.

They marched up and made a wide half-circle around the royal women. Elsa raised her voice. "I'd like for each of you to pay attention to this man here." She extended a hand toward the scar-faced fellow who had still not managed to express his discomfort vocally, though his spasms were violent enough to make two of the watchers glance away.

After a few more seconds passed, Elsa held up a finger and whispered a brief phrase. Thad flopped out like a worn leather pouch, several short, mewling noises finally clawing free of his mouth. Elsa turned her attention to the others. "I gave this man the option of a quick, clean death. He opted instead for this." Giving him an unreadable look, she explained, "What I have done is killed most of the marrow in his bones. I turned it to ice, just long enough for it to die, but not long enough to kill him outright."

Three of the men made small, gibbering noises. One started praying. Bengt fainted.

Elsa stared at the men … and at the stark malice in that expression, Anna's own blood seemed to congeal. "Although he certainly would have preferred that quick death. Because, you see, he's dead now. His heart is still beating, his mind still working, but he's dead, none the less. The destroyed marrow in his bones will begin to putrefy, and soon the corruption will leak out and spread its poison through his body." She paused for emphasis.

The five conscious men looked as if they wanted to be sick.

"There is nothing he can do about it. There is no doctor that can cure him, no magic that can restore his bones. In three days, four at the most, he will collapse into delirium as the fever spreads. The next day, or perhaps two, he will know unquenchable agony as his muscles melt and his brain swells until it beats on the inside of his skull like a man buried alive beats the inside of his coffin."

The men were staring at her fixedly, convinced beyond argument that they were in the clutches of the Devil Herself.

"So now I have a proposal for you all. You can tell me who hired you, and take your chances with a clean death or possibly even a full escape … or you can follow this sad thing into Hell on Earth."

Anna, tired as she was, took a tiny step back from her sister.

. . .

. . .


	34. Combination

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: I'm trying to get one of these published per week. It's not as easy as it looks. Also, I know that I'd mentioned to a few readers via PM that Hans would be showing up in this chapter … but as it turned out, other people had an awful lot to say. Next time, for sure.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 33: Combination**

. . .

. . .

_Monday 02 August 1841, 4:30pm_

A colossal, translucent-blue, multi-legged fabrication stepped methodically through the boreal forest on the way back north to Arendelle. Seven much smaller conveyances, six of them holding a kidnapper, one holding a corpse, skittered along in front of it.

Elsa and Anna sat on a pair of slightly-reclined chairs of molded ice that perched center-top of the huge spidery thing, the older sister examining the younger one's hand, her expression phasing from clinical to panicked every few seconds. "I'm so sorry! I know that hurts."

"Well, no. Not since a couple minutes ago," Anna answered quietly.

The scab had formed while Elsa was interrogating the men (which didn't take long, as they were _tremblingly_ eager to spill their guts about 'Jan'). As soon as she noticed the blood that had dripped onto Anna's dress, though, she had all but come undone, and insisted on healing the wound.

"But that isn't necessary. It'll be fine in a few minutes, remember?"

"… What?"

"It'll heal."

"Well, eventually, but …"

"No! In another minute or two."

Elsa glanced twice between the scabbed-over fingers and Anna' sea-storm eyes. Then she seemed to come to herself. "You regenerate!"

Her sister's shock surprised Anna. "Hey, _**you**_ were the one who figured out I could heal myself!"

"Oh. Um … right." She concentrated, her brow drawing into lines, and then relaxed and smiled. "Of course."

This weird behavior freaked Anna out. On top of what Elsa had done to her kidnapper, this just multiplied the redhead's worries. That was nearly three minutes ago, and those had been the last words they'd spoken to each other. Staring at her older sister's profile, she noticed subtle changes in her expression and emotional state. It was downright disturbing, and to Anna, the silence was deafening. "Elsa?"

The older girl seemed very distracted. "Hmm?" She noted that Anna was scooted about as far away from her as she could get and still be on her chair.

"Why didn't Kristoff come with you?"

Elsa's face registered confusion and then obvious shock for a couple of seconds, but then smoothed out. "Oh, he wanted to. But I told him I'd handle it. It could have been, ah, dangerous. For him. You understand."

There was something very odd in Elsa's undertone. Anna filed it for later examination. "Oh. Okay." She nibbled her lip. "But he's all right, then? Those guys wouldn't tell me anything."

"He's fine."

"I didn't see anything after that jerk put that smelly rag over my …"

"He's fine. Don't worry."

The older girl fell silent again, and went back to that … that weird thing she was doing with her face. Definitely creepy. Just like …

"Elsa?"

A couple of blinks and quick frowns crossed her face before she turned to Anna. "Yes?"

"Is that … that guy really gonna die … like what you said? 'cause that's kinda …" Her voice got really quiet. "… kinda … horrible."

The Queen regarded her keenly for a moment, then gave her a wide smile. Their transport stopped. "I think we've probably gotten enough from each other for one day."

"… Huh?"

"We'll let those guys get out of sight." And she sat calmly for half a minute while the mobile cages moved northward until they could no longer be seen or heard. Then Elsa stood. "To answer your question, no."

Anna brightened. "No? Really? But …"

"It wasn't because he didn't deserve it, though. It's because your sister is something of a wuss."

"… I … my sister? But you … wait, what?" Anna stared at the older girl in confusion … then in sudden fear as Elsa's eyes turned a deep, limitless, empty black.

There was a momentary wavering of reality, and then _two_ Elsa's stood there. One gripped the sides of her head and grimaced. The other grinned slyly and leaned against the back of the ice chair. "Hey. Don't think we've been introduced. I'm Morana." Her hair flashed once, then returned to its longer, black, natural state (insofar as the word 'natural' may be used with one of the Fey) along with a generous increase in her basic hourglass shape. Her dress shifted to a sleeveless, white tunic thing that stopped mid-thigh, showing off her flawless limbs to good effect.

That was one of the few times in her life that Anna was left completely speechless.

Elsa turned to the Fey with a withering look. "What the devil was all that nonsense about?"

"Reputation."

"I'm … how … excuse me, _what?_"

"Okay, here's how this is going to play out, and keep in mind that I'm mainly doing this for my own entertainment, but there will be some benefits to you, so if you just _happened_ to want to look at it as a favor …"

"I promised you no such thing!"

"This I know, little Queen. I'm only pointing out that your earlier assessment of my motives was less than flattering."

"My assessm- … oh." Elsa dropped her eyes and blushed slightly. "Um … sorry about that."

* * *

_Earlier_

Elsa had found that switching her focus between each of her falcons every few seconds worked better than trying to see through all of them at once. It helped her to concentrate on trying to locate Anna's form. It gave her a continual, sweeping view of her kingdom. It allowed her to cover leagues in all directions.

But it wasn't showing her where her sister was. Instead, minutes kept slipping past.

The panic was there, lurking around the corners of her mind, turning things dark, clouding her reason, and she pushed it down, but it would only appear in a different form, a different place, and she was running out of time, and she couldn't let them get too far away or she'd never find them, and _what am I doing I can't let anything happen to Anna and what if they've done something to her already and don't think about it and why did they take her, what possible reason could there be and don't think about it, because if something horrible happens to her I'll never forgive myself and don't think about it because if you dwell on it you won't be any use to her so don't think about it, __**don't think about it**__, DON'T THINK ABOUT IT!_

"You're working yourself into a lather."

Elsa shrieked and spun around, lighting and then dousing the magical glow around her hands in the same small fraction of a second. "Would you PLEASE not DO THAT!?"

Morana merely grinned.

Elsa took two quick deep breaths and asked, "What may I do for you, My Lady?"

"Dear me, so formal." She took a step closer, her bare feet every bit as comfortable standing on ice as Elsa's. "I'd actually prefer it if you called me Grandmama."

That extracted a series of confused blinks from the Queen. "Would you really?"

"No, on second thought, that makes me sound old, and I never was fond of my Crone avatar, even if I am a couple hundred times your age. No, 'My Lady' is fine. Or you can just call me 'Morana'. I'm not picky."

"Very well. Morana. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes. Find your sister."

Elsa fought down her temper. _Breathe. Pause. Breathe._ "That's good advice. I think I'll try that."

"I like the falcons. Nice touch." She waved vaguely at the sky. "How's that working for you?"

_Of __**course**__ she knew about the falcons. Why __**wouldn't**__ she know about the falcons?_ "The kidnappers seem to have traveled farther than I'd anticipated. But I _**will**_ find her."

A small sigh escaped the Fey's perfect lips. "I'd like to think that, too. But the truth is, you're not just going up against regular humans."

"… What?"

"They've got help."

"What does that mean?" Elsa asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of her tone, and reflecting that she voiced that phrase all too frequently when dealing with Morana.

"They're cloaked. Hidden. In truth, they aren't really very far from here yet. But even so, you won't be able to see them with regular eyes, not from a distance."

The panic was coming back. "But if," she whispered, "if I ask for your help … I'd be putting my kingdom in danger."

The Fey rolled her eyes. "Yes, that whole 'boon' thing." A careless wave dismissed the notion. "Don't worry about that. Old news."

"Then what is it you want?"

"I want you to do ME a favor."

It was a struggle to keep up with the conversation. "… What could I possibly do for you," Elsa wanted to know, "that you can't already do yourself, a hundred times better?"

"You can be human."

Elsa had no ready answer to that.

Morana continued casually, "You see – and this is something your man pointed out at least once – the Fey don't think like humans."

"Oooooooo…kay. So?"

"Well, we don't FEEL like humans, either."

"You mean emotionally?"

"Right."

"Um … I suppose that makes sense."

"I'd like to change that, in my particular case."

"… I don't understand."

Giving her lower lip a brief workout, and looking anywhere but at Elsa, Morana finally said, "I've been watching you and Carlos."

"So I'd gathered."

"The two of you are very much in love."

"Correct."

"And your sister and her new husband are just as … infatuated with each other."

"It's more than simple infat-"

"I _**know**_ that. I know it's more than that. It's more than friendship, for both of you, more than lust, more than a desire for companionship or familiarity … more, even, than a need for stability or a longing for adventure."

"Well … yes."

"The Fey do not have that."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is that a request for a boon?"

Elsa shook her head. "No, I mean how can you not know of love?"

"Oh, we _know_ of it. We even pretend to it, sometimes. But usually it's little more than an unstable mixture of lust and jealousy. That's why I killed my husband so many times." She poked Elsa's chest. "With you, though … you actively put the other person's welfare ahead of your own, and that is something that the Fey just DON'T do, not even with family."

"It looked to me as if Litania felt affection for you. And she said she was your cousin. And she sounded as if she understood love when she …"

"Litania is something of an exception, but even then she was only using emotional arguments to get me to bend to Oberon's will. As I said, we can _act_ like we love. But it isn't the same as it is with you. Trust me."

A long pause and a keen stare preceded Elsa's answer. "I can accept that."

"So what I need from you … what I would appreciate … is for you to allow me to Blend with you."

"… I don't follow."

"There is a way of sharing spirits. Blending our essences."

"Blending … how?"

"Magic."

"Yes, well," was her dry rejoinder, "that does seem to answer for most situations with the Fey."

"This is a different magic."

"In what way?"

"Normally we just take what we want. We manipulate humans into doing things for our entertainment."

"I'd noticed."

"But I can't do that with Blending."

"… Oh?"

"It has to be completely voluntary on your part."

"Voluntary."

"Really, more than that. You have to … _want_ it. You have to be glad of it, with no false notes, nothing held in reservation."

"And then what?"

"Then I would join with you."

That sounded vaguely sexual to Elsa, and she pursed her lips in sudden alarm. "Um …"

"No, not that! I can get that anytime I want, and besides I don't swing that way." She considered that statement and shrugged. "Much."

"Well, then, what …"

"We would share space in your physical form and our spirits would combine for a time. Then I would be able to experience what you experience, and you would be able to feel a little bit of my mind."

Elsa temporized. "Say I allow this …"

"Not just allow. Encourage."

"Okay. Say I do. Then what? What do you expect to get out of it?"

The Fey stared off at the horizon, silent for several breaths. "My husband."

Her mouth opening and shutting a few times, Elsa finally managed, "How will that … how would you even …"

"My husband," answered Morana, turning back to the Queen and meeting her gaze, "is sort of like you. Jarilo's Fey-touched, not full Fey. Well, his father was half-breed. His mother is full Fey."

"Oh." It was all Elsa could think of to say.

"So because of his human heritage, he has the _capacity_ to love … even if he doesn't often exercise it."

"Wait … you said you killed him?"

"Yes. Several times."

"But … but …"

"What? I always bring him back."

Elsa huffed a sigh and decided to just go with the flow. "Whatever."

"Well, anyway. Yes, I killed him. He's a cheat. He has a roving eye. But … but I think that, maybe, part of that might possibly be, um … partly my fault."

"… Why?"

"Because while I desire him and I enjoy our times together and I get really jealous of him, I don't love him. And he knows it."

"Wait … wait, wait." Elsa held up a hand, staring at the icy surface where they stood. "But you took Nicolai."

"Yes? So?"

"You were … you'd said you were going to … um …"'

"Screw his joints loose?"

"Whew." Color crept up her cheeks. "Yeah, that."

"Right. He's good. Lots of repressed, aggressive lust in there. Loads of fun."

"But you killed your husband for doing the same thing?"

"It wasn't the same thing. Not the same thing at all." Morana frowned, trying to come up with descriptions that would mean something to Elsa. "The Fey aren't capable of deep emotional attachments, but humans are. So are the Fey-touched. Jarilo would get … tired. Tired of me … no, that's not right … tired of what I did. He went looking for emotional support. He kept his love from me, gave his love to another. I couldn't stand that."

Elsa grasped for words herself, trying to put together a thought that wouldn't risk Morana's wrath. "Does that not seem, ah, perhaps just a bit … unfair?"

"How so?"

"You expect better of him than you are willing to give."

"Not at all. I told you, the Fey can't love. As in, are not capable of it. But Jarilo is. He's supposed to love me."

"But love can't survive in a vacuum! If you don't love him …" She caught her breath, put a hand to her throat, and stared at Morana. "Wait. That's it, isn't it? Is _that_ what you want? You want to learn how to _love?_ The way _humans_ do?"

"No, not the way humans do. The way YOU do. I wouldn't ask this of any other human."

Meeting Morana's frank gaze, Elsa began to formulate a question, but the Fey cut her off. "You, little Queen, have several attributes – and having been alive this time around for the better part of five millennia, I can promise you that I've met a _**lot**_ of people – that I haven't found present in this combination in any other human I've met personally."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You will believe what you are able to. But I've been watching you closely, and looking into your past. I don't know of anyone else who could have experienced the childhood you did and come out even _mostly_ _sane_, much less as balanced and focused and selfless as you did."

Elsa fought down a blush. "Anna could have."

"Perhaps. She had her own demons to battle. But yours were monumental. I'd say insurmountable for anyone else. Some might say that the only reason you DIDN'T go over the falls was your Fey blood, but since a goodly portion of _**us**_ aren't wrapped too tightly either, that probably isn't it." Her intense gaze hardened. "And you nearly died protecting your kingdom from that storm."

"But I had no choice!"

"Of course you did. And practically anyone else would have made a different one."

"But my people could have died!"

"Thus my position. You had 'no choice' because of your love, not for any practical reason. Do you not recall what your man told you about other rulers? How they feel about their subjects? And I believe your response was, 'That's sick.' Or do I exaggerate?"

"That's not the point!" Elsa objected, her face burning.

"I think it is. And then … aside from that, in addition to your love for your kingdom, and the really amazing love you hold for your sister, there is the question of your faith."

"My faith?"

"You follow the White Christ."

"You mean I'm a Christian. Yes, I am."

"Then there you go."

"I don't understand."

"How many other _Christians_ do you know?"

"Why … hundreds, I suppose. Most of Arendelle, I'd think."

"And how many of them would have made the sacrifices you have? How many would have held onto their faith in the face of the adversity you experienced?"

Elsa raised her chin. "I've read the Book of Martyrs. There have been thousands down through the years. Tens of thousands! I'm hardly unique."

"And how many of them," asked Morana very slowly, "were royalty?"

"Ah … well. A few."

"And how many of _those_ … were Fey-touched?"

"…"

"_**There**_ is my point. You see, my several-great-granddaughter, you ARE unique. You are a follower of the White Christ with a Faerie heritage, in a powerful and temporally privileged position, who consistently puts others ahead of herself. You live out your faith the way your God intended you to, when there is no external pressure on you to do so … from anywhere or anyone. You have no _concept_ of how rare that is."

"I am _**hardly**_ perfect!"

"So then you understand your Creator's rules about that, too. You're only reinforcing my opinion."

Elsa considered the other for a moment, conscious of time slipping away. "So you want to do this for love?"

"Eh, to compress the argument until it screams for mercy, yes."

"And this is a favor to _you?_"

"It is. Just consequentially it will allow you to rescue your sister in a timely manner, but you might be able to do that anyway."

"But you just said …"

"I've learned not to discount your success in any endeavor. That it's barely possible doesn't mean it's a sure thing, as it will be when we Blend, but I wouldn't lay any money down against you." She jabbed a finger at the Queen. "You're a stubborn one."

Elsa heaved a long sigh. "Does conversing with you always have to be such an emotionally draining experience?"

"You wouldn't learn anything otherwise … and I wouldn't have nearly as much fun."

Ticking off her limited pool of options, Elsa finally nodded. "Very well. I am agreeable to your proposal."

"Oh, dear, and I didn't even bring a ring with me!"

Elsa's eyes clenched almost as hard as her teeth.

"Sorry, sometimes I can't help myself. You are a _**wealth**_ of straight lines."

"Can we please just do this?"

"Of course." She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "But before we start, how do you feel about spiders?"

That just got a silent series of blinks in answer.

"I mean, are you _afraid_ of spiders?"

"Oh. Well … no. I had several that lived in my room with me over the years. They ate the bugs and made pretty webs in the window. I mainly just watched them because I didn't want to make them leave by messing with them." One eyebrow climbed slightly. "Why is that important?"

"I just had the most delicious idea for rescuing your sister. Oh, this _will_ be fun!"

* * *

_Back to 4:32pm_

Morana waved off Elsa's apology. "Water under the bridge. I had enough of holding grudges over the last millennium and a half. Time for some other kind of entertainment. Let's trundle." The enormous spidery thing got underway again. She rubbed her hands together. "Anyway, here's what will happen. We'll all get back to your castle and you'll hold a quick general court. You'll explain to whoever shows up that these are the men who kidnapped your Little Sis and tried to kill her Prince, and that you-"

"**What?!"** screeched Anna. "_**What'd**_ you say?"

"Oh, that's right." She gave Elsa a slightly apologetic look. "Oops. Spilled the beans."

Elsa caught Anna's arms and held her gaze. "Kristoff is alive and safe. Okay?"

Anna was adamant. "Tell. Me. What. Happened."

"Is it really …"

"NOW!"

Closing her eyes, Elsa gave a long sigh. "When you were kidnapped, Kristoff tried to fight them. He got stabbed, but I was able to _heal_ him, and he's _resting_ and he will be _fine_. Understand?"

"Stabbed."

"Yes. He really did want to come with me, but … um, he … um …"

"What are you not telling me?"

"… He lost kind of a lot of blood, and he didn't, um, have the, uh, energy."

"You said he was fine!"

"Anna …"

"What part of losing a lot of blood do you consider FINE?!"

"Anna … please. I will take you to him first. That was my idea all along. But I didn't want you …"

"To worry? You mean like the way I might WORRY about my family lying to me about, oh, I don't know, maybe why my sister wouldn't open her door for THIRTEEN YEARS!? You think I don't have what it takes to handle that kind of news?"

Bowing her head, Elsa whispered, "I'm sorry. There was just a lot to think about and I didn't want you to freak out."

"I'M NOT FREAKING OUT!"

Elsa gave her a lost look. Morana observed them closely.

With some effort, the redhead controlled her temper, rubbing furiously at her smarting eyes. "We said, 'No more lies.' You promised."

"I didn't lie. He's safe and he's resting and …"

"You didn't tell me!" Her lower lip quivered. She bit it. "I'm not stupid! I'm not some dumb little girl who … who …"

And then Elsa was holding her close and tight and safe while she cried. "I know. There is no one I know who is braver or more capable than you. But you'll be back with him soon. Just think of that. He's safe and he loves you and you'll be together and everything will be put to rights."

Morana stated, "You two really are amazing."

Two pairs of blue eyes turned her way.

"Even when you're beyond furious, it never crosses your mind to kill each other."

Two mouths dropped open in shock. Anna said, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"Eh. What some might consider stupidity – or blackest treachery – might be looked on in the Fey realm as wisdom."

Elsa murmured in Anna's ear. "The Fey don't think like humans."

Nodding, Morana added, "Some humans. Maybe not so much others."

Anna's hands cupped her sister's face, spearing her with that watery look. "You _promise_ he's okay?"

"Yes. All he needs is rest and a lot of good meals."

"Well then." She turned to Morana. "You were saying?"

"Right. Okay, so you caught them red-handed and subdued them. Then you'll say that the penalty for such crap is death and that all but one of them is going to die."

A frown marred Elsa's brow. "Why leave one alive? I'm not in favor of torture, but I'm even less in favor of a miscarriage of justice. I learned my lesson with Hans. If I had hanged him when I had the chance instead of leaving him in the dungeon …"

Morana held up a hand. "Stop. I'm getting there. The only one that will actually die is the one that tried to backstab you, because he's already dead."

"… Huh?"

Chuckling at Elsa's extreme confusion, the Fey continued, "Once everybody hears the verdict, and all those lowlifes know that only one of them is going to be left alive, you trot them off to the dungeon, stick 'em in solitary. Then you take them out one at a time, isolate them, and tell each one that he's the one you've decided to let live."

Elsa thought she could see where that was going, but had an objection. "Very well, so you have a group of men who all think they are the sole survivor of the Ice Queen's Wrath or something. Then what? If we let them go to spread the tale, they will run into each other sooner or later and …"

"Ah-ah-ah! You didn't let me finish. Once you tell each man that he's going to live, you will turn his mind off for a while. One of them will wake up in London, one in Copenhagen, one in Paris, one in St. Petersburg, one in …"

"Oh!" Anna blurted out. "I get it! Then they won't ever see each other again, and the story … but wait. How are they gonna get there?"

Morana eyed Elsa and grinned. "You did say she was sharp." Turning that megawatt-level smile on the younger girl, Morana answered, "I'll put them there. It will be just another demonstration of the Ice Queen's might. Ol' Bengt won't have the vaguest idea how he managed to wake up in Venice the day after conking out in Arendelle. But he _will_ know magic was responsible. And he will blab his head off."

"Um … but if he does that … I mean, yeah, a lot of people know about Elsa, but most of 'em think the stories were blown way out of proportion. Is it really a good idea? I mean, what if, say, the Duke of St. Petersburg hears about it and has him brought in for questioning or something?"

"That's what I'm counting on."

Anna stared at her and flopped back against her seat, her mouth slowly dropping open. "… You want other countries to be afraid of Elsa."

"I want them to respect her power."

"Well … yeah, okay. But …" Anna squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. "Hold on." She looked back and forth between her sister and the Fey. "Were you … the two of you … inside one body?"

"It's called Blending."

"Blending." She turned to Elsa. "What the hell?!"

The Queen was still rubbing her temples. "Mph. It's getting worse. You didn't tell me about the headache," she complained to Morana.

"I didn't know. I've never done it before. As far as I know it hasn't been done in over a thousand years." She stepped up and caught Elsa in a tight hug. "Thank you!"

"Well, I suppose you're welcome."

Anna goggled at them. "Hold on a minute! How do you even …"

Elsa mumbled, "Magic." The same instant Morana chortled, "Magic!"

"Uh-huh. That's the easy answer. What did you really do? Why'd you do it? What happened to that guy to make him hurt so bad if he's not gonna die. How do you …"

Morana leaned her forehead against Elsa's. "She's like that all the time, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"Hey! Those are valid questions!" Anna crossed her arms and grumped.

A slight blue glow outlined the Queen and Morana pulled away. "Good idea. You'll think better without the headache."

"Mmph."

"Well," stated the Fey, rubbing her hands together, "I've got some assimilation to do."

Anna gave her a look. "Assimiwhich?"

Elsa patted her arm as the glow died out. "I'll explain later. It's okay, though." Casting a sidelong glance at their progenitor, she added, "I did a favor for Morana."

"… _You_ did _**her**_ a favor?"

"I know, crazy, right?"

"All right, you kids, just ride this contraption back to the castle and stuff those jerks into prison. I'll …"

There was a deafening crack and the sisters yelped. A fourth figure, a diminutive boy, stood among them. Facing Morana, he said, "Oberon would like a quick chat with you." His voice was light, silky, almost birdlike.

Morana's face pinched into a sour expression. "Puck."

"Hey, Mo. How's tricks?"

"You'd know all about tricks, wouldn't you?"

Elsa could tell there was no love lost between the pair. She quickly put a warning hand on Anna's shoulder and gave her head a tiny shake when the younger girl glanced up at her.

"Don't be like that, Mo. I'm just doin' my job."

"Sure."

"Hey, Oby said go, so I went."

"Like you went when you gave Dolotria that message?"

"Damn, girl, you sure know how to hold a grudge."

"You're one to talk."

"Well if you're gonna be all stuffy, I'll go elsewhere. I've delivered my message. It's on you now." And he vanished.

After a couple of breaths, Elsa asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Who the Hell ever knows with Oberon." She sighed. "Guess I better go see what he wants." Her form faded out.

"Elsa?"

The Queen sank down and took her sister's hands. "Yes?"

"Life has gotten very, very weird of late."

"I doubt you could utter a statement that contained more truth." She patted the wounded hand and stood. "Let's catch up to the prisoners." The giant spider's legs jumped to double-time.

"This is lots faster than a horse."

"It was Morana's idea, but yes, you're right. More comfortable, too."

"Say, where's Carlos?"

A thick cloud of sadness, worry, and discontent settled around them.

Anna checked her tongue, thinking, _Uh-oh._ After a half-minute of silence, she ventured, "Elsa? Is … is Carlos all right?"

It was another half-minute before Elsa felt she had achieved sufficient control to speak. "We were attacked the same time you were. He was shot. A poisoned crossbow bolt."

Her eyes absolutely huge, Anna pressed her knuckles to her mouth.

"I've … I've got him in … well, I'd already worked on him for most of an hour. I was pulling the poisons out. It was evil poison. Magically evil. Then Morana …" She gulped several large breaths and steadied herself. Some moments later she continued, "Morana showed me how to put him into a state of stasis."

"… Sorry?"

"He's in a bubble where … where time doesn't move. He's frozen. In time, not ice."

Soft arms slipped around Elsa's shoulders, and the Queen's fingers wrapped them tightly. "Elsa … I am so sorry. For yelling at you. I'm sorry. You had all that to deal with and I …"

"Shhhhhh. Sh. It's … okay. I'll deal with it. I'll heal him. But I didn't know what I was doing, and I really need some more information on that … poison, and I have to do some research before … before I …" The hiccup surprised them both.

Anna nuzzled her cheek, then drew Elsa's head and shoulders into her lap. "Your turn."

Elsa's eyes were dry (more or less) by the time they got back to the castle.

. . .

. . .


	35. Violation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: **_

_**First of all I want to thank everyone who has reviewed and Followed and Favorited. Your support means a lot to me.**_

_**Second, I wish to apologize for the purely ridiculous span of time since my last post. Life has been kicking my tail, and MOST days I just haven't had the emotional energy to write.**_

_**Lastly, I'd like to quote Rapunzel as regards the events of this chapter: "Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out!"**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 34: Violation**

. . .

. . .

_Monday 02 August 1841, 5:35pm_

"Under no circumstances."

"But I _need_ to be there in order to …"

"Absolutely not."

"Mikael, be reasonable …"

"Reasonable!" The old gentleman was obviously containing his wrath by the slimmest of margins. "Was it reasonable when you hared off looking for the Princess _by __**yourself?!**_ Not even a word to the Guard! It was nearly three quarters of an hour between the time someone realized you were gone and the point where the watchman spotted your … that … ice thing. My God in Heaven, Elsa! We were all out of our _minds_ with worry! I had never before felt that you were **entirely** reckless, but today you have out-done your sister, and _that_ is a difficult feat. To be blunt, your performance deserves a spanking!"

The Queen's mouth fell open.

"And now, on top of that, you want to put yourself in harm's way _**again?!**_ You already know this man is a killer and uses the Forbidden Arts in his evil! How in Hell's nine levels could you even entertain the _notion_ that I'd let you within _**sight**_ of that stable?!"

Drawing herself up to her most regal height (and the top of her head still barely reached Mikael's chin) she gave him a penetrating stare. "Admiral. You are not considering all the ramifications. In the first place, we need this man alive if at all possible."

"Yes. You said that. You want to extract the secret of that poison from him."

"Precisely. And while your men are well trained in dealing death, capturing this 'Jan' without loss would seem problematic. I don't want you to lose anyone else. You already told me two good men in your Rifle Corps had fallen. I'll not have the Marines suffering on my account as well."

"That's why we have to craft a plan and carry out the attack with stealth. He'll never even know we're there until …"

"How do you know that?"

"I have several Marines who are extremely good at moving around undetected."

"Undetected from magic?"

"… Ah … hummm. … Well, as to that …"

"This is my issue with your plan, Admiral. We know that 'Jan' is using sorcery. I don't know how proficient he is. I suspect he is new to the game since he chose to use such crude methods in his attack, but I do know that he can employ Infernal magicks to a degree. How will you counter that?"

Mikael stroked his chin, his other hand clenched at the small of his back. "Perhaps Torvik would have something we might use."

"I am sure the Bishop would be happy to help any way he can. I am also sure he has never come up against anything like this before."

"And you have?"

Elsa fought the urge to rub her temples in frustration. "Mikael … I can fight magic with magic. I can encase this man in solid ice from a distance. I have my wards to protect me against any weapon that might come my way. I have no intention of-"

"The wards, as I am given to understand, did not protect Senor de la Maria from the magic on that bolt."

Savagely did she suppress her gut reaction to that statement. She didn't have the time or the luxury for a mental break down. Not just yet. Drawing a long breath to try to center herself, she countered, "His wards were … not as strong. He had to craft them himself because the ones I put on him were quickly absorbed. My personal wards do not have that deficiency."

He adopted a more formal tone. "Your Majesty … for all practical purposes, you ARE Arendelle. My duties to my kingdom and the office of the Queen Regnant inform my decisions. I am not _allowed_ to _allow_ you to put yourself in danger."

"Be that as it may. I will not be getting any closer to him than I absolutely have to until he is immobilized. But I _**will**_ be with any force you field. So it comes down to there being three choices available to you: You can either put me where I can be the most use to you, as part of the attack; you can hold back and let me do it all myself; …"

"Elsa, please!"

"… or you work around me as best you can manage. But one way or another, I _**will**_ be there when this man is taken."

About half a minute passed while he tried to stare her down, finally signaling his defeat through a tiny slump of his shoulders. Sighing deeply, he said, "You'll need your horse."

. . .

. . .

_6__:48pm_

The plan was sound. Mikael and Jørgen both said so. They had confidence in it, even given the small amount of time they'd had to put it together, but then that's what practice drills were all about.

It was supposed to be straightforward. Simple. Easy, even. After all, they knew where he was, knew a good bit about what he looked like, and knew how he was sure to be armed. All they had to do was sneak up on the building with battering rams, knock the front door down and simultaneously crash through the (rotten) back wall and into the room 'Jan' was using for his inner sanctum, let the Marines storm the place, arrest this 'Jan' character, and begin planning his execution while Elsa extracted the secrets of poison manufacture from his brain. However, as the saying goes, no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.

'Easy' disappeared in the unbelievably heavy fog that suddenly shrouded the building.

'Simple' got dragged up onto the bank and gutted before they even had the old stable surrounded when a crossbow bolt streaked out of the gray opacity and took one of the Marines through the leg.

From where Elsa sat her horse some hundred paces away (and surrounded by the Queen's Own Guard at Mikael's implacable insistence) it looked like their perfect plan was falling to pieces. She hazarded a glance into the astral plane …

… and recoiled in horror at the leaking pustule of unalloyed evil squatting in the dilapidated building. Gasping a quick breath, she screamed, "GET BACK!" and then threw up a hurried wall of ice between the men and the monster.

A hail of black spikes came roaring out of where the front of the building would be, punching at least two dozen holes in Elsa's ice, but the men, now alert and retreating, managed to avoid getting skewered.

"GET AWAY!" Elsa screamed again. "RUN! HE'S COMING!" Her horse and three of those near her all shied and bucked, their eyes suddenly wild. The Queen pulled hers back hard and jumped off, ran between her Guard and the evil fog, and erected a tall triangular fort around them all, the acute angle pointed at the peril.

None too soon did she complete that task. The black bolts flurried out again, only this time centered on her. Most of them _**SPANGED**_ off to either side, deflected by the shallow angle of incidence, but two stood quivering in the very point. In a few seconds the ice around them whiffed away into vapor, dropping them onto the ground.

The darts carried the contamination with them. Elsa could _feel_ the evil magic involved. The familiarity was terrifying; she shuddered violently as images of torture and death and blood, blackened and blistered skin forced themselves into her mind. Her legs buckled …

"Yer Majesty!"

Haunted eyes locked onto those of two of her Guard.

"Just pick 'er up! We gotta get th' Hell outta here!"

A few moments of close contact and bumping along over the Guardsman's shoulder helped her regain her senses. "Alred, please put me down."

"But, Yer Majesty, I …"

"Now, please."

"But th' Adm'ral said …"

"I have a very good idea of what he said," she muttered, "but if you don't put me down, I'll freeze your boots where you stand."

He set her upright; she held his forearm while regaining her balance. "Thank you." Turning back to look at the stable, her brows drew together. The fog bank had grown to at least ten man-heights tall, and was now a muddy, roiling mass streaked with reddish-black. Quickly shaking out her arms, she allowed her magic to invest her hands.

Erupting from the ground some twenty paces in front of the abandoned building, a colossal wall of ice quickly grew to overarch the evil mist. Another rose to meet it from the other side, creating a glowing, crystalline arch. Then the ice grew from the side of each wall, curving around to completely enclose the ramshackle, mist-shrouded structure. Elsa concentrated on making it thicker, harder, impenetrable …

A red lance of power streaked up out of the fog and blew the top off the arch. Dozens of cracks appeared in the ice.

The Snow Queen staggered back two steps, bumping into a Guard, who steadied her and kept her from falling completely. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden pain, drawing deep breaths to try to focus.

_Well, that didn't work_, went her logic. _Looks like containment's out. I need to shut him down before he hurts anyone else. _She looked up at the fracturing tower of ice, frowned in thought for a couple of seconds, then made a quick, downward-slashing gesture. Half a thousand spikes grew out of the ice, all pointed inward, all advancing quickly to the old stable, crushing the roof, breaking the walls …

A storm of stone answered her thrust.

Growling out of the ground in gouts of dirt and gravel, the whirling column sucked in the evil fog, growing red as blood. Two yellow eyes, purulent boils of hate, opened near the upper end. Limbs like stony clubs grew from its center, smashing into Elsa's arch and sending huge chunks of it flying in all directions.

Gritting her teeth, the Queen banished the arch and all its fragments, then a sweeping gesture brought a field of blue, translucent spikes spearing up from all around the eldritch thing, piercing it over and over and over …

It recoiled briefly in what might have been mistaken for pain, but then swung ponderously at the spikes, shattering some of them, and losing significant pieces of itself in the process.

"Come on, you abomination!" Elsa's scream echoed across the distance. "Come and try your hand for real!" She made several swift gestures, muttering to herself. A soft golden glow outlined her form, seeping into the ground and stretching toward the golem. Smaller streams flowed to either side of her, creating small, bright pools.

Turning its attention her way, it gave a rasping, hollow cry, growing taller and more massive, and lifted its 'arms' high, meaning to crush and kill …

… when a wide and deadly blade of hardened water sliced up out of the ground in front of it, and neatly bisected it. The two halves fell away into separate piles of rubble. As the dust began to settle, the stable (what was left of it) came back into view, quite a bit the worse for wear. A figure could be seen staggering around among the debris.

"Captain! There he is!" Elsa was, at this point, more than willing for her soldiers to take it from here. It wasn't that she was tired or drained, but she was deeply and emotionally disgusted from having her magic interact with that of the sorcerer. Her soul felt like it had been dragged through a midden. What she ardently desired just then was a long, long bath. Maybe two.

Several Marines ran toward the man in the building. He noticed them. Lifting a massive book that he was holding, he began reading from it.

The gravel golem came back to life and stood. The Marines skidded to a halt.

Narrowing her eyes, Elsa declared, "Oh, no you don't." She offered up a _very_ quick prayer, gathered her power in front of her chest for a long moment, concentrating it and forming it to her will, then launched it at the thing threatening them.

Twice before, and twice only, had she done this, the first time when she and Carlos were experimenting with their newly-enhanced powers. She had been disappointed with the result at the time because it wasn't as flashy as the corona-bright beam her fiancé could produce. She'd thought it something of a dud at the time. Later, though, Carlos had opined that perhaps it simply needed a target. After all, he'd pointed out, she was able to freeze an entire mountain solid to stop the volcano he accidentally made. She'd given that a lot of thought, and then tried it on a large boulder near the outer wall of the palace garden.

The result had made an impression on her. That's why she was doing the same thing now.

Most of the larger rocks in the center of the evil creation suddenly glowed blue for about half a second before violently exploding. The top half of what was left fell down into the bottom, scattering debris for fifty paces in all directions. Elsa hoped that a stray rock would knock the sorcerer senseless, but luck was not hers. Instead, he was surrounded by a shimmering dome of energy that deflected whatever came his way. Through the distortion, Elsa could see him frantically flipping through the large tome he held.

_Oh, ho!_ _Maybe all his ability comes from that book._ So thinking, she took another quick glance into the astral plane: it glowed with an evil so intense it nearly blinded her. Slamming the portal shut, she gathered more of her power, then thrust it straight at the man and the facinorous thing in his hands … and that's when the _real_ battle began.

It tried to grab her magic, but only managed to deflect it, not hold it. The two forms of power were just too different. After a few breaths, a pair of dark tentacles appeared, stretching toward her, the knobbed ends a collection of hooks and spikes and razor edges.

Elsa had suspected such an attack. As soon as she saw them, she gestured to either side where the golden energy had puddled: sudden swirls of icy crystals popped up and then vanished, leaving behind a pair of … Guardians. Taller at the shoulder than three men, the things gave Death a physical form. Each long, crocodilian head sported jagged jaws that could swallow a man whole. The sleek bodies, reminiscent of great cats, were carried on six massive, clawed legs. Appendages not unlike the striking limbs of the praying mantis sprang from their shoulders, and their long, jointed, prehensile tails ended in wicked spikes.

Leaping forward, the Beasts attacked the evil tentacles, rending and shredding, stabbing and stomping. Jan's attempted strike vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Go get him," she whispered to them, sorry that it had come to this. She had no illusions about how much of 'Jan' would be left when they were done with him. That meant she'd have to rely on her own magic to save Carlos, and that prospect frankly terrified her.

But … that isn't what happened.

'Jan' didn't fight the Beasts. Instead, he turned on his heel and raced away, his legs lengthening monstrously. Still, Elsa's creations gained on him.

Afraid of losing sight of him, she re-created the huge, spidery thing she'd used to ride back to the castle, stepped up on it, and followed the battle at speed.

"Your Majesty! Come back!"

She ignored them.

Alred laid his hand on his companion's shoulder. "She ain't list'ning to ya."

The other man slumped. "Ol' Tough-as-Nails is gonna crucify us."

"Can't be helped now." He watched as the Queen's form dwindled. "Honestly, though, didn' SHE save US just a minute ago?"

"… Well … yeah."

"And even if she'd'a took us with 'er … what'd we be able to do?"

"… Okay. Good point." He looked back at Alred. "Did you see those – those _**things**_ she made?"

"Yeah."

"Did you ever …"

"Nope. Never. Didn't know she could do that. But, y'know, considerin' what she done a week ago? With those guards made o' snow? I'm not a BIT surprised."

Elsa, meanwhile, was gaining slowly on her Beasts, who were gaining slowly on 'Jan'. They ran silently, all of them, and the sorcerer looked over his shoulder every few seconds. He was streaking along the fjord shoreline, clearing boulders and pools, bushes and bracken with breakneck speed. But Elsa's two creations were single-minded in their pursuit … so much so that they ignored everything except their target, even when the target stopped, and turned, and raised his hands.

Elsa was maybe three hundred paces behind them when the Beasts attacked. She didn't see what 'Jan' did, but she saw the result. Large pieces of each Beast simply whiffed away into steam. They flopped down on the rough beach, still trying to get closer to their prey, even with only half a body. A very un-royal phrase flitted through the Queen's head. Again she gathered her magic to herself, advancing on her adversary with frightening speed.

He turned away again, but this time he didn't run. Instead, two pairs of translucent wings sprang from his back, and he took to the air, veering off over the fjord and gaining altitude steadily.

With a scream of frustration, Elsa guided her spider to the water, freezing it and jumping down onto the ice. Pouring her power into the fjord, she threw up a long, long, long spire of ice, aimed at the fleeing sorcerer. His flying was slower than his running had been, but he was already forty man-heights up. The ice gained on him … closed in … tapped one foot. He skewed away, dropping a little but adding some horizontal distance. Elsa strained, pushing her ice after him, bending the top of the spire …

When both were nearly sixty man-heights in the air, the ice at the base of the spire cracked and heaved, and the whole structure fell ponderously over.

"No." It was hardly even a whisper. Tears pricked Elsa's eyes as she watched her quarry fly slowly away to the southwest, finally vanishing over a mountain. She sank to her knees, cheeks wet, and bowed her head.

. . .

. . .


	36. Galvanization

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: And here we will observe the wild demonic contagion in its natural habitat ...**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 35: Galvanization**

. . .

. . .

_Monday 02 August 1841, 9:10pm_

Shimmering patterns danced against the stone of the castle, multi-hued glory reflected off the rippling waters of the fjord as the sun sank toward its evening berth. Some of them played over the windows, refracting through the cut-glass arrays and sending shafts of gold and copper, crimson and magenta dancing around the interior of the western-facing rooms. Strolling along the seawall at this time of day was a common pastime of courting couples, the natural beauty of the setting lending itself to favorable comparisons with one's love interest.

Elsa saw none of it, though she had arguably the best spot in Arendelle to do so, leaning on her elbows at one of the high parapets, her face cupped in her hands. Though she had managed to conceal her grief from the officers and men who had followed her and found her on the shore, here, alone, she could allow herself the outlet of tears.

"It's not your fault, you know."

Stiffening, and then subtly wiping at her eyes, she straightened her back and turned to face Anna. "I thought you were with Kristoff."

The younger woman stepped up close and took her sister in her arms. "No one blames you. Not a single citizen of Arendelle." Giving Elsa an extra squeeze, she added, "He's asleep."

"Oh." _How does she always know exactly what troubles me?_

"He needs the sleep."

The Queen allowed her head to droop until her chin rested on Anna's shoulder. "Anna … I am _**so**_ sorry."

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not. If it weren't for these stupid powers, he never would have-"

"If you didn't have your ice powers, Arendelle would still be trying to recover from that horrible storm, just like _every other_ coastal kingdom between here and Africa." She got a pensive expression on her face for a moment. "And besides that, if you hadn't shown everyone what you could do, you know, at your coronation, I probably wouldn't have figured out what a snake Hans was until after the wedding, and maybe not until he tried to kill us both. Your powers are a blessing, so just stop it."

Elsa sniffled again. She couldn't come up with anything to say to that.

"I ran into Jørgen on the way here."

The non-sequitur made Elsa blink. "… Oh?"

"Turns out he already had one of the kidnappers."

Pulling back to look Anna in the face, she asked, "How?"

"He's one of the ones that attacked us. They killed two of the four guards by ambush, but the other two guards fought back and beat 'em off. Killed one, wounded one. The crowd got the wounded one." A severe grimace of satisfaction crept over her face. "Two of the witnesses say he's the one that stabbed Kristoff. Jørgen said they're 'interrogating' him."

Elsa caught the 'air quotes' and her brow wrinkled. "You mean _torturing_ him?!"

A prim expression preceded, "I can neither deny nor affirm your assertion."

"Oh, don't you get all legal with _me _little missy! I've read WAY more law books than you have!"

A careless shrug answered her. "You'll have to ask the Captain. All I know is, they've got him and they're asking him questions. The specifics of the methods used are obviously not something I'd be a party to."

"Well, I should hope n-"

"Jørgen _did_ promise me he'd make him cry, though."

"Anna!"

"What? He's gonna be executed anyway."

"… Anna … didn't you hear anything Morana said? We aren't going to …"

"Please don't tell me you're actually gonna do that! That's a _crazy_ plan!"

Elsa's mouth fell open as she took half a step back. "But I thought … you said … but we weren't supposed to _kill_ them!"

"And why not? It's what the people expect. Elsa … it's the law."

That stopped the blonde. Attempted regicide was punishable by death, and the circumstances rarely mattered. If (to cite the most glaring example) she'd executed Hans after his first attempt on her life, they would have avoided a great deal of needless bloodshed. Anna had a point, and a valid one. "So … what? We just have a … a mass execution?"

"I'd recommend hanging."

"… But …"

"One at a time."

The Queen half turned, pressing her fist against her forehead.

"Elsa, what's wrong?" Anna laid a hand against the side of her sister's face. "Just earlier today you said you weren't in favor of a miscarriage of justice. And it was, what, a week ago? Yeah, a week ago you had to defend yourself against a bunch of assassins, and had to kill a lot of 'em. And you didn't have a problem with executing those impostor-type assassins last spring. You know, the ones that came with-"

"Yes. I know. I recall. All too vividly."

"Okay, then." She turned Elsa back to face her and took her upper arms in a light grip. "Elsa … I know this is … distasteful. But they tried to kill Kristoff. Tried to kill _**you**_." Moving closer, she eased into a warm embrace. "I can't just … _forgive_ them for that. I can't … can't take the chance. I can't lose you, either one of you. And I heard them talking, after I came to, talking about what they planned to do to me, what that 'Jan' character planned to do to you, and I'm pretty sure I'll have nightmares about it. Trust me, you really don't want to know. Leaving them alive … that's not an option."

"Anna …" Pulling away far enough to rest her forehead against her sister's, Elsa sighed and continued, "I see them. Most nights."

"Huh?"

"The men I killed. They walk in my dreams. I see their faces, their mangled bodies, all the … all the blood."

"Elsa, you …"

"No. Please. Just let me." She held Anna close, whispering into her hair. "I know I had to do it. Had to protect Arendelle. This is … it's what goes with being the Queen. I understand that, and I've accepted it. But, Anna … I went almost a decade without feeling anyone else's skin against mine. I lived for thirteen years with the fear that I might kill you accidentally. You or Mama or … or Papa or Ger-Gerda or …" The sniffles caught her back up.

Anna just held her and let Elsa's tears soak into her braid.

Finally she heaved a long breath. "It took … months … before I could hug you without that niggling little worry telling me it was wrong. Months more to get really comfortable with it. And it was JUST you. No one else. No one at all."

"Elsa, I …"

"Shhhhh. Not yet." She cleared her throat with a wet cough. "You've been my rock. I really don't think you have any idea of just how much I rely on you, how much your love and support mean to me. How much I truly do love you. Oh, Anna, when Gerda found me and … and started to tell me you'd been … I was _**terrified!**_ So afraid you'd been … killed … shot, like Carlos, and I wasn't there for you, and for that long, long moment it felt like death … like the earth was going to open up and swallow me. Then she said … kidnapped … you were … and-and Kri-Kris …"

It was several more minutes before her throat was un-constricted enough to continue. Anna simply held her, respecting her need for silence.

"Anna, there's been so much death," she continued after a minute. "So much. Why do people do these things? It's so … useless. I really don't think we ever understood how big a debt we owe to Papa and Grandfather … and even his father … for keeping Arendelle out of war. We haven't seen the ravages, haven't had to deal with the death. And then those … those assassins …"

"Yeah. That _felt_ like war. At least I guess that's sort of what it would feel like. Losing so many."

Elsa nodded. "And I've been distracting myself … letting Carlos distract me … just because I couldn't … couldn't handle it. The enormity of what I did. So many dead …"

"And I'm sorry you had to. But, Elsa," and here she made sure Elsa was looking her straight in the eye, "I wouldn't have had it go the other way."

"… Neither would I."

"If keeping you alive and safe meant heaps and mounds of dead enemies, well, then, I'm sorry they made that choice, and it sucks to be them, but their deaths are _**not**_ on you."

Elsa held her stare, sniffling a couple of times, and nodded. "I know. That's what I meant about being Queen. And Mikael, bless him, told me just hours ago that for all practical purposes, I AM Arendelle. I understand that, too."

"Heh. If you were some nasty, bitchy Queen, it might be easier on you."

A perfect eyebrow cocked in question.

"Just sayin'. The people love you. Practically every last citizen. That's why it's so important to keep you safe. You're the best symbol this kingdom's had in … well, probably generations. You put a face on everything about Arendelle that's good."

The Queen blushed deeply. "You have a real gift for hyperbole."

"Not at all. And I don't think you'd get any disagreement from any random man you stopped in the street."

Drawing her sister back into a hug, Elsa stated, "You really are too good for me, you know."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"You know you won't win that fight. You might as well concede."

"As long as I can keep hugging you." _As long as I can feel that you're real and alive and here and close._

"Works for me."

. . .

. . .

_10:20pm_

"You'll get him back, you know."

Elsa glanced up from her plate, meeting her sister's light-teal eyes with her own red-rimmed ones. "What?"

"Carlos. You'll get him back. You'll save him. I know you will."

Not bothering to ask how Anna knew what was weighing on her mind, the Queen dropped her gaze back to her plate, and the mostly-uneaten cod _en croûte_ she was pushing around with her fork. "I'm glad you're so confident."

"It's just healing, right? Yeah, you said the poisons were evil, and that 'Jan' had used magic to make 'em. But your healing aura is magic, too." She reached across the table and laid a hand on Elsa's wrist. "And you're stronger."

A sigh managed to escape before she could corral it. "Am I? Am I strong enough? Anna, you weren't there. You don't know … didn't feel … such hate. Deep hate, everlasting. Hate given physical form." She lifted a trembling hand to her head, fighting to keep her voice even. "Hate that's an actual, living thing. Hate that's a … disease."

"Okay. So what can I do to help?"

Elsa just blinked at her. "How would I …"

"You aren't planning to just give up. I know you better than that."

"No!"

"Well, then. What's your next move?"

Her answer was barely audible. "I don't know."

"Fine. I'll tell you, then." She leaned over and took Elsa's hands. "You get some sleep."

"… Sleep? You expect me to …"

"Yes. I do. You're exhausted, and it's no wonder. If _you're_ not capable of being practical right now – and you're not, and I don't blame you – then I get to be practical _for_ you." She gave the Queen a tiny grin. "You should write the date down, you know, for posterity or something."

After staring off at the wall for a few breaths, Elsa asked, "And I'm just supposed to nod off to dreamland? Turn off my mind? I can't stop thinking about …"

"Take a dose of laudanum."

"… What?"

"Get some from the chirurgeon. It'll help you sleep, and it won't give you a hangover. Then, in the morning, when your mind's clear, you'll know what to do."

"I don't think it's that simple."

"Maybe not. But you aren't doing him any good dithering like this, and …"

The door opened and one of the maids came in. Dropping a curtsy, she said, "Your Highness, you asked to be told when the Prince awoke."

"Right! Yes, thanks!" She jumped up and started piling food on a plate, talking to Elsa the while. "Get some rest, 'cause you sure as heck can't think straight now, as tired as you are. And sleep is how humans recharge, even those that have Faery ancestors." Grabbing a final brace of pears, she charged out of the room. "Gotta go feed my husband!"

Something Anna had just said made the Queen frown. There was a connection … if only her mind weren't so fuzzy. She knew Anna was right, but she also knew how impossible it would be for her to sleep, with the maelstrom of worries clogging her mind. Yet sleep was the only …

A concept was trying to hammer its way into the light, making her blink.

… sleep was the only way she could …

… could … recharge …

… . . . … wait …

Eyes widening considerably, Elsa straightened up so quickly her neck popped. "That's it!"

The two servants at the far end of the table both jumped in surprise at her yell.

Not a second was wasted in her sprint to the wine cellar.

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 03 August 1841, 8:35am_

Anna stumbled into the wine cellar with her usual demonstration of grace and style … meaning that she didn't _quite_ knock over the two guards at the entrance of the domed room where Carlos lay in temporal stasis.

"Elsa?" She stepped over and peered around the end of the mirror-surfaced lozenge sitting on the floor, immediately spotting her sister. The Queen lay stretched out on one of the Marine cot mattresses … and was glowing with a strong, blue light. "Elsa!"

When her eyes opened, brighter light spilled out. Anna could see no features, and could barely even look her sister in the face.

"Anna?" She seemed a little disoriented. "What … what time is it?"

"Are you okay?! You're glowing!"

"Oh." She looked down at one hand, clenched her fist, and then grinned (though it was hard for Anna to tell). "YES!"

"Elsa … you're scaring your sister. You know, the one you said you loved and relied on?"

Popping immediately to her feet, the Queen bounced over and gave Anna a crushing hug. "I feel it! I feel it!"

"… Feel … what?" Anna managed to squeak out.

"The POWER! I slept in the ley line and it pooled up inside and I can feel it just waiting for me to use it but I won't waste it on a giant icicle this time because he's hurt and poisoned and I'm gonna SAVE HIM!" She dropped Anna (who staggered a bit before regaining her balance) and turned to the stasis field. "Anna … I think you should probably back away. Go wait with the guards in the next chamber."

"Not 'til you tell me what-"

Her answer came out in a burst of words as she caressed the surface of Carlos's cocoon. "The short answer is that there are pathways of natural magic all over the world like all the ones in the high valley of the trolls but in Arendelle there's only one of any consequence, and it passes through this room." She pulled a quick breath. "It's power I can use, Anna! But I don't know what kind of leakage there might be, so _**please**_ wait out there with the guards."

Anna backed away slowly. "Well. Okay. If you're sure. I'll be right out here. With the, ah, guards. Okay?"

"Fine." Elsa wasn't looking at her.

The men in question stiffened slightly when she stepped between them. One of them cleared his throat and stated, "Her Majesty told us to stay here and keep everyone out … except you."

"Yeah. She needed to, um," Anna searched for a word for a moment, "to recharge. So she can save Car- um, Senor de la Maria."

"Yes'm."

"So, um, I guess we'll just wait here. Right here. For Elsa. I mean the Queen. 'cause she's gonna be doing magic. In there." She stared hard at the doorway.

Elsa was examining the power investing her, getting used to the flow as it swirled around and through her. Borrowing from her ability with the stuff of the astral plane, she practiced bending it to her will until she was sure there would be no glitches, no hiccups when she called on it to battle the poisons. Then, as prepared as she thought she could be, she turned her attention to the temporal sarcophagus and began raveling its ward.

As soon as she felt the edges of the healing aura, she merged it with her own … and staggered against the wall, nearly falling. _The corruption had spread!_ As the stasis field vanished, she could see instantly that the evil veins stretching away from the wound site were longer and more numerous, wider and deeper, and as Carlos re-entered real time his laboring heart shuddered, faltered …

_NO!_

Flooding his system with her power, and reinforcing the healing magic with her own, she doubled her former effort … doubled it again.

His heart beat. Once.

The toxins had multiplied! How was that even possible? How had they overcome the time-stop …

Unless it wasn't actually a time 'stop' field. Maybe it was just a time 'slow down a whole lot' field? That would explain …

She couldn't worry about that now, although a corner of her mind set up a rotating litany of self-recrimination for not starting the process the night before. If she had waited any longer …

Maybe you've already waited too long, suggested a tiny voice in her head.

_Stop it._

Maybe it's already too late.

_No. I WILL save him._

But the poisons …

_**NO!**__ I. WILL. __**SAVE.**__ HIM._

You can't know …

_SHUT UP._

Carlos took a shallow breath … a wheezing, rasping breath. His heart beat again. Once.

Elsa concentrated on flushing his heart free of the invasion.

The demonic toxin seemed to realize that it was under attack again. It resisted.

She pounced, pulling it out by the roots.

Another stuttering breath made its way past the man's lips.

Carefully wrapping up the healing aura around his now-cleansed heart, Elsa turned her attention elsewhere …

The toxin bloomed in three more places.

For the next fifteen minutes, she played an eldritch version of whack-a-mole. Every time she thought she had it contained, it would spring up somewhere else. Her power level had dropped at a rather alarming rate. What she'd thought would be several times as much as she'd need (and would have been if she'd been able to simply pick up where she'd left off) was nearly gone.

Another pocket of the pustulent infection appeared next to his heart, hammering away at the protective aura. She quashed it. Two more showed up. Savagely did she fight them back. Then half a dozen oozed into existence, widely spaced throughout his torso.

She poured the rest of her reserve power into the battle, cutting off the toxic invaders and destroying them.

Three more made themselves known in his lung.

She trapped them … but could just barely hold them.

Carlos's breathing had been steady for ten minutes, but now it began to hitch.

Pulling the different bits of poison out of his body, she held them away from him and froze them out of existence.

But there were more.

So many, many more.

A quick swipe of a sleeve across her forehead kept the sweat out of her eyes.

She bolstered the healing aura around his heart, edged it into the sequestered part of his lung …

Something punched through.

He flinched. His heart skipped a beat. Skipped another.

Frantic, she smashed at the poisons, but they slipped by her.

His last breath was hardly a gasp.

She was …

His heart … she couldn't feel his heart

She was losing him.

_Oh, no, I am __**NOT!**_

Another desperate prayer later, she got an inspiration. She'd been standing at his side. The ley line passed through near his head, so she scooted around until she was standing in its flow. Immediately, there was energy, force she could use …

_Yes! This can work!_

A minute later she was even further behind. The poison was winning.

She crafted a second healing ward, laid it in around his heart. Crafted a third and used it as a buffer.

The poison skirted the edges. It was using stealth rather than blunt force, tricking her into using her resources unwisely. How could it be …

A thought came into her mind: **Don't just **_**allow**_** the power from the ley line to aid you: **_**pull**_** it out.**

What?

**Pull the power from the ley line.**

Being at the point where she would try anything, she turned some of her concentration on the flow of the earth-magic, trying to draw it into herself, sucking it up as if through a straw. Then the straw got bigger …

Yes! More power! Fight!

The battle suddenly got fierce as the contagion realized that its tricks weren't working. Redoubling its attack on his heart, it all but melted the protective magicks, almost before Elsa could react.

More power! Pull more power!

Her head began to throb.

Another ward encased his organs. A fifth and a sixth attacked the poison head-on, blasting it to nothingness on a cell-by-cell basis.

It multiplied.

MORE POWER! PULL MORE POWER!

There was so much of it flowing through the ley line now that it took on a hazy outline of its own. Fire ran up and down her body as her system tried to adjust to the massive influx. But she used it just as soon as she absorbed it.

Another clot of corruption blossomed near his throat.

_MORE POWER! PULL MORE POWER! MORE!_

Her will, her mind, her heart, her very essence became a tool in her hands, digging and finding, tearing and excising as the raw, wild earth magic stormed through her. Every muscle felt as if it were being pulled in two. She didn't even slow down. The poison was holding nothing back now, and neither could she, though her bones felt burnt to ash and her vision was a field of glittering spots.

**MORE POWER! MORE! MORE! MORE!**

There came a final, eldritch shriek, a soundless cry of hatred and vitriol and malice that blasted her against the wall. She slumped to a heap on the floor, her ice-dress whiffing to steam from contact with her reddened skin.

Anna and the guards flinched badly as the magical detonation passed through. The Princess marched over and looked through the doorway. "Elsa? I know you said …" Her eyes widened considerably. "ELSA!"

. . .

. . .

**_End Note: Yes, I know. Possibly not the BEST place to stop. But it's STUPID-O'CLOCK in the morning and I can't hold out any longer. And I'd appreciate your pointing them out if you catch any typos, if you don't mind. There probably are some. Oh, and please let me know what you think of the action here._**

**_Con_**


	37. Recognition

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: I know, I know … this one's pretty short, and for that I apologize. But it did what it needed to do and stopped where it needed to stop. If I had continued, there wouldn't have been another decent place to catch one's breath for a while.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 36: Recognition**

. . .

. . .

_Wednesday 04 August 1841, 4:52pm_

Elsa was definitely dead.

Irrevocably, unmistakably, absolutely and without doubt … she was dead.

Most sincerely dead.

Deceased. Expired. An Ex-Human. Quite reliably dead.

That, her mind insisted, was by far the most logical answer to her current state. She had died, and been sent to Hell for being an ice-wielding monster, and now cadres of demons were taking it by turn to knock the top of her head off with a maul, use their red-hot pitchforks to scramble her brains, re-attach her skull with rusty staples, and pass the tools of their trade off to the next demon. That had to be it. There was simply no possible way that a human could undergo this much pain and remain alive. And she'd only been conscious for a few seconds.

Experimentally, she tried a moan. That made the pain (inconceivably) worse.

"Elsa?"

The word rebounded and echoed in her head like thunder in a canyon. She gritted her teeth against it; tensing her jaw muscles like that only gave new depth of meaning to the _completely inadequate_ word 'torment'.

"Elsa." The voice was much softer this time. "My Darling, you have to let me in. I can't get your healing started with your shield up."

_Healing? What?_

She felt gentle hands on her temples, lightly massaging …

She knew that touch.

She had felt that touch before.

It was a safe touch. Like Anna, only not.

"Elsa, please let me in. I can feel your agony. Let me help."

She knew that voice.

She had heard that voice before.

It was a safe voice, a voice that meant freedom and life and security and love.

"… Ca … Carlos?"

"Oh, thank God!" The relief in his voice was a physical thing. "Elsa, please, I want to help you! I can help you if you let me. But I can't get past your mind shield."

Fingers traced the contours of her eyes, her lips. She concentrated on that touch …

When the barriers came down, his Presence flooded her mind, sorting out the pain and setting things right, a soothing balm on the frayed ends of nerves that had been screaming at her for … for …

"Carlos," she whispered, "how … how long?"

"It's Wednesday, early evening. I came to my senses yesterday around noon. Anna says you'd been in a … um, unconscious for some time by then."

Her eyes opened, focused on his. "Where …"

"The infirmary. Doctor Odum insisted, and I had no reason to object. You were positively _radiating_ power, so there was no need to keep you in the ley line."

"Oh." Her eyes fell closed again.

"Sweetheart … can you get your healing ward going? I'm using mine to help you, but you really are so very much better at ward-crafting."

"… mmf … Still … hurts. Why do my … muscles …"

"You took an awful jolt when you finally pulled that evil magic out of me. I've damped the psychic damage. It will heal in time. But it hurt your body, too, hurt it physically, almost as if you'd been given a vicious beating."

"… Oh."

"I'm sure your healing ward will help, if you can get it started. It's okay, if you can't yet. It will take a bit longer for you to heal up. I just … it hurts me to see you in such pain, and …"

"… I'll try."

"Would you like some help?"

"If … you don't … mind."

"Of course!" Guiding her (frighteningly fragile!) psyche through the portal into the astral plane, he held her ethereal self closely, protectively, as she began to weave the basic matter of magic.

Soon her form took on a soft, golden glow; her mind became fuzzy.

"Rest, my Dear One. Rest now and heal."

She felt the ghost of a kiss in her mind before slipping into that trance-like state.

Carlos heaved a long, careful sigh … another … then he stood and cracked his neck.

"Thank you."

Turning, he met Anna's steady, heartfelt gaze, and favored her with a small smile. "Thank _**me?**_"

"With every bit of gratitude in my body."

"If you'll recall, _she's_ the one who saved _my_ life and nearly died in the attempt."

"Yes. Because she's like that, and she loves you."

He took another deep breath, wincing slightly, and spun a nearby stool around so he could straddle it. "She does. I know." He nodded in wonder. "And every time that thought crosses my mind, I thank our infinitely merciful God for the truth of it."

Anna didn't miss his flinch, and nodded at his torso. "You aren't entirely well, either."

"Hey, I'm able to walk around. After taking a demonically-poisoned arrow through the lung, that's _more_ than just a minor miracle. I can handle a cracked rib, thanks, and I'll put myself in a healing trance just as soon as I KNOW she's going to be all right."

Anna came over and stood beside him, then gave him a quick, impulsive hug while she whispered, "I am so unbelievably _**glad**_ you came into her life!"

"So am I," he replied, patting her shoulder. "Um, careful of the …"

"Oh, right! Sorry." She stood abruptly and clasped her hands at the small of her back. "Right. Your rib. Has Master Odum taken a look at it today?"

That pulled a chuckle from the Spaniard. "As if. This wound is WELL outside his ability to treat, in any respect."

"Is it still … well, it was … red. I think. When I came in where you and Elsa were, I sort of got a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. It didn't really look too good."

In answer, Carlos lifted the front of his shirt about a span, exposing the angry, ridged, puckered flesh.

Anna winced. "Ouch."

"It hurts to breathe deeply if I do it too quickly." Letting the shirt fall again, he turned his attention to Elsa. "Is there a servant ready to hand?"

A quick glance into the outer room led Anna to call, "Oleg? C'mere for a sec?"

One of the doctor's 'scrubs' stepped in. "Yes, Your Highness?"

She pointed at Carlos. Oleg looked his way.

"I was wondering if I could trouble you for a plate of meat?"

A wide grin accompanied a low bow. "For the man who saved our Queen? Anything your heart desires, My Lord! I'll be back soonest." And he trotted off.

"I guess," posited Anna, "that you're going to stay here with her?"

"That's the plan."

"Good plan."

"How's Kristoff?"

Her eyes rolled. "Only the worst patient in the history of ever, that's all. Master Odum says he has to rest for at least two more days, and Kristoff insists that he will die of boredom if he can't, at a minimum, walk around outside."

"I feel for him."

"But the big lunk-head almost _fainted_ the last time he went to the privy! He can't even stand straight for more than a few minutes." She gave a tiny shiver and wrapped her arms around herself. "He really … lost a lot of blood. I don't like to think how close …"

"Then don't. It _**didn't**_ happen, Elsa _**did**_ save him, and you two will be off on your honeymoon in less than a fortnight. Try to look at the whole situation. Things could always have turned out worse than they did. Trust me on that. We're all alive, we'll all recover …"

"Not all of us."

A slight frown got comfortable on Carlos's brow. "Yes. That's true. This 'Jan' managed to kill two of the Rifles, two of the Watch, and one of the Queen's Own in his madness." He met her eyes steadily. "We are very much NOT finished with him."

"Carlos …"

The pause was long enough that he felt compelled to prompt, "Yes?"

"Elsa said that you two were going to use that … plane thingy …"

"The astral plane?"

"Right. That word doesn't wanna stick in my head. You were going to look for bad guys in the astral plane. But you didn't find any, and we all let our guard down. Some. But then there they were. And there were a lot of 'em."

"You want to know why we didn't find them?"

She nodded. "It's … kinda spooky. I mean, not that a demon-powered sorcerer isn't already spooky enough, but it sorta worries me that … that neither one of you could …"

"I've mulled that over myself. I'll have to assume he was using some sort of cloaking illusion on himself and the men. Did you know Captain Fjelstad came by to see me last night?"

She shook her head. "I was with Kristoff after sundown. I wasn't worried about Elsa as long as you were here with her."

"Right. Well, he spoke with the guards who fought them, and they said they were hard to see, even standing right in front of them, until they took a hit. That's pretty classic Infernal-spell behavior."

"So does that mean he can sneak back in?"

The level of concern in her voice moved Carlos. "Under some circumstances, he might. However, he made a mistake, and I think that will be his undoing."

"He did?"

"His lackeys left behind some of those poisoned bolts. Captain Fjelstad is keeping them safe until Elsa and I can examine them."

"… How is …"

"We can learn a great deal about his magic, learn what it feels like, and craft warning wards accordingly. Every sorcerer I have ever encountered has used his own, unique brand of evil magic, unique because it comes from a specific demon. That's how they operate."

"But … but Elsa said he had a book. Some kind of big, really old book, and he was reading from it to make his magic."

Carlos's eyes lit up at that information. "Oh, did he now! If he's THAT kind of sorcerer, this might be easier than we'd thought."

"Huh?"

"You see, a typical presumptive sorcerer will actively seek out a demonic sponsor and strike a deal with it. That's how most of them do it. But sometimes someone will sort of stumble into being a sorcerer because he runs afoul of a cursed item. If he was relying on the book for his magic, I'd bet a pile of gold bigger than you are that it contains a demon, and the demon is powering him."

"Oh." The gears turned in her head for a moment. "Oh, wow. So … so 'Jan' could be an innocent-bystander type!"

A quick shake of his head expressed Carlos's answer. "Not in any respect. He would have needed some desire for power, some pre-existing reason to accept the partnership. Otherwise, the demon wouldn't have bothered with teaming up and would have simply killed him. Only with great difficulty can demons work with a basically good person, and not at all with a Believer."

Anna was obviously confused. "I don't get why a demon would team up with a human at all! What's in it for them? I thought demons just wanted us dead."

"Oh, they do. But there are limits placed on what they can do _directly_ in this plane of existence. By using a human and feeding him some power, they can create more chaos and spread more evil. Plus, they get the sorcerer's soul to play with."

"… Ick."

"Yes. Very much 'ick'. That's why I take every opportunity to kill sorcerers."

She shuddered lightly and said, "Thanks."

"Also, back to considering 'Jan' as a specific case, it's pretty obvious that he has some kind of intense hatred going, either against Elsa herself or Arendelle in general."

"Huh? Why do you …"

"That poison. There was a _ridiculously_ strong component of pure hate involved. I could feel it, even in just those few seconds when I was still conscious, and I guarantee you it was personal. That had to come from 'Jan' … unless you think Elsa has done something to a specific demon to get it that riled up with her."

"Ha. Not likely." She thought that over for a bit. "So 'Jan' … _knows_ us?"

"Almost certainly."

"That's even creepier."

"True. Knowing that there is someone out there who holds you in that much contempt is more than a little unsettling."

Anna didn't seem to be paying much attention as she stared off into the middle distance. "It wouldn't be anyone from Arendelle, that's for damn sure."

"Hah. Yes. This entire kingdom has a real love-fest going with her."

"That's just my point! It would have to be a foreigner, but we just haven't had that much personal interaction with anyone! Who do we know that would hate her … that … much …" Eyes widening, she gripped one hand with the other until her knuckles turned white.

"Something significant just occurred to you."

Her response was the veriest whisper. "Hans."

Brows rising in surprise, he asked, "That ex-prince?"

"It all fits." Lifting her gaze to his, she continued rapidly, "Hans hates Elsa more than anything! More than he hates me! Well, okay, he mainly just thinks I'm pathetic, but that's really only because I fell for his crap with everything I had because I'd never even had a _chance_ at any kind of a relationship 'cause they kept the gates closed and most everybody out and so the only ones I ever got to talk to were the few servants and cooks and stable-hands and stuff that were left after Papa dismissed the rest of 'em because he didn't want anybody to find out about Elsa's powers, but then …"

"Anna!"

She gave a little jump. "What?!"

"Why do you think 'Jan' is Hans?"

"Oh, right. We never found him. You know, after the rest of the assassins died trying to … to …"

"Yes. They tried to invade the castle. We stopped them. And we already knew Hans had been freed when the remaining assassins broke into the dungeon. Elsa thought at the time that they'd probably killed him once they got the information from him they wanted. But now … you think maybe that didn't happen?"

"We never found his body. He wasn't among the dead from the invasion. And he was with the Russians."

Rubbing absently at his shoulder, Carlos muttered, "And the Russians knew a very great deal about poisons."

"… Yeah."

"But why would they have a demon in a book? I never felt anything demonic off them. Evil, for sure, but just plain, human evil."

She shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe they didn't. Maybe Hans already had it, or found it later, or … I dunno. But my gut's telling me that 'Jan' is Hans."

. . .

. . .

_In a High, Remote Valley_

The fire in the mouth of the shallow cave was small, made of old, dry wood, and gave off hardly any smoke. Hans sat close. At this altitude the air was cool regardless of the season, and night would fall soon. It wouldn't do for him to die of hypothermia.

The _Handbook_ lay open across his knees. One hand pressed flat on the ancient parchment while the other slowly twirled a small, blue object. Hans's gaze was fixed on the object, a splinter of ice.

Ice that refused to melt.

He had discovered the artifact stuck in the heel of his shoe when he first arrived at this desolate camp. He would have tossed it away in disgust, except that the **voice** stopped him. The **voice** wanted to know more about it. And for the last few hours, the **voice** had guided him in learning all he could about the nature of this ice-that-was-not-ice, and the unique power that had created it.

The Queen's facility with battle magic had stunned Hans, stunned him and frightened him. If those Beast-things had caught up to him before he'd finished that spell … well … it simply did not bear contemplation. He'd almost been ready to just toss in the sponge and make off for lands far, far away.

But then the **voice** had called him back, bolstered his courage, given him hope.

This shard, this serendipitous discovery might be the key to her undoing.

Slowly, the sun sank, disappearing behind the tree-line. Dusk advanced. The stars began to appear. Still he sat, eyes boring into the tiny spike of solidified water, eyes that now glowed red in the gathering gloom.

. . .

. . .


	38. Preparation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: This is the penultimate chapter. It was going to be the final chapter, but I didn't want to slap one on you that was QUITE that long. And you have all been so very gracious with my lengthy hiatus (for which I apologize ... life really gets in the way of what's important). And ... anyway ... thank you.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 37: Preparation**

. . .

. . .

_Arendelle Castle – Saturday 21 August 1841, 9:40am_

"Would you like another sausage?"

Kristoff glanced up at his wife and grinned. "Don't mind if I do." He speared one of the fat hunks from the plate she held out. "Thanks."

"I believe that makes six," observed Elsa, taking a sip of her tea.

"You're counting?" Anna put the platter back down and gave Elsa a level look. "It's not like we can't afford it."

"And two omelets. And four of those smoked-salmon-and-boiled-egg sandwiches."

"They're really good!" said Kristoff.

"And half a krumkake," continued the Queen, "and three small beers."

"As long as we're making a list, don't forget the bacon," added Anna. "He downed a few rashers of that, too. And it's FINE because Dr. Odum said he NEEDED to eat a lot to get his strength back."

"It's been almost three weeks. I can't help but think that he's replenished his blood supply by now." She angled her face down toward her plate to hide a tiny grin. "For that matter, the sounds coming from your room for the last few nights would seem to indicate that he already HAS his strength back."

"… And you have a problem with that?"

"Not in the least. I just think it interesting that someone who used to subsist almost solely on carrots has taken such a turn for the carnivorous."

"I wasn't _avoiding_ meat," objected the new Prince, "it was just hard to come by a lot of the time. I was poor, and carrots are cheap."

Elsa pursed her lips and thought that over. "I'll concede your point, since I really have no idea how one might go about acquiring fresh meat out in the wild. Trapping?"

"Nope. Anything you catch in a trap is going to end up inside a wolf before you can get back to it."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "Can we talk about something besides traps? Thinking about a cute, furry little rabbit with its leg in a vise gives me the willies."

"I'd think it'd be the 'wolves' thing that would give you the willies, considering."

"We beat 'em, didn't we?"

"Out-ran 'em. Barely. I wouldn't call that 'beating' 'em."

Carlos raised his glass. "I'd like to know where this excellent ale comes from. I must say Arendelle's brewers compare very favorably with Flanders and Rheinland." He drained the rest of it and gave one of the servants a high sign.

"I'm not sure about this specific one," replied the Queen, "but if you're that interested, we can find out. There are close to a dozen taverns that supply the castle."

Kai smiled to himself from his position near the door. It did his heart good to see them all acting like a family again, rather than a bunch of walking-wounded. Having to attend two mass funerals in as many weeks had nearly done Elsa in. Anna had to talk her out of abdicating. Elsa had been making overtures about moving to Andalusia with Carlos so she could live in obscurity. She figured that very few in southern Spain had heard of the Snow Queen, and hoped that fewer still gave the tales any credence.

But that had been more than a week ago, and her spirits had improved daily, especially with all the support from the people of Arendelle. They'd held a spontaneous city-wide celebration two days after her battle with 'Jan' and had sent dozens of tokens of their affection to the palace. In grateful response, Elsa declared a week-long tax holiday, leading to a significant up-tick in custom for most vendors. Additionally, there were two girls born that week who were both christened 'Elsa'. That touched the Queen more than she could easily express.

There came a discreet knock on the door and Kai stepped out for a moment, returning with a single sheet of parchment, which he studied briefly. "Your Majesty?"

She gave him a long-suffering sigh. "Kai …"

He fought down a grin. "Your pardon. Elsa?"

"Yes, Kai?"

"That list of items you requested have been assembled."

Her eyes brightened as she smiled. "Already? Excellent!"

Anna sent her a puzzled look. "Items?"

"Yes," she said in satisfaction. "Carlos and I have been doing some research."

At that cryptic comment, the Princess held up a hand and waved it around. "On what?"

"That poison."

Eyes growing large, Anna processed that information for a few seconds. "Oh! That! You're gonna try to find Hans."

"Not FIND Hans," muttered Kristoff, "PROTECT you from him. She already said that."

Letting her head knock back against her chair as she sighed again, Elsa answered, "We don't **know** that this 'Jan' is Prince Hans."

"Ex-Prince," Anna corrected as she leaned forward. Always ready for a lively debate, the Princess insisted, "And who else could he be? I'm open to suggestions, but I haven't heard a good one yet. The assassins didn't hate you. It was just a job. That slimy Cardinal hates you, but he's in Italy, and he doesn't do his own dirty work. Duke Norbert might not LIKE you much, but Weselton recovered pretty quickly from our trade embargo, so I can't see him HATING you. Besides, he's too much of a coward to do anything like that. Who does that leave? No one in Arendelle, that's for sure."

"Amen," said Carlos.

"But, Anna, I SAW this 'Jan'. He looks nothing LIKE Hans. He's old and bald. And the men he had working for him said he had a permanent limp."

"In the first place, that could all be a disguise. In the second, you never got closer to him than a hundred paces. You said so yourself."

Carlos decided to intervene. "In the final analysis, it really doesn't make any difference. We're going to craft wards that specifically counter the hate bound up in that bolt. It won't matter who it is. If he tries anything again …"

"And he will," insisted Kristoff, who was pleased as punch with Elsa's plan, and had been encouraging her from the start.

"Then we'll be ready for him," finished Elsa, her eyes reminding them more of blued steel than summer sky.

. . .

. . .

_The Vatican – Saturday 21 August 1841, 10:30am_

_The heat used to bother me._ That thought, prompted by the stifling air that rode in with an unseasonable heat wave in mid-week, wandered across Cardinal Papella's mind, but was quickly shooed off to the side by other, more pressing matters. He stared out across the rooftops of Rome for a few moments more before turning his attention back to the cryptic note in his withered hand. Inscribed in Latin, it stated:

_The Tools are broken.  
The Star has fallen.  
The Winter yet lives.  
The Name is known._

_\- Umbra_

This news was as unpleasant as it was unexpected. The Guild never failed. Ever. It was common knowledge. He had been assured of that fact. He expected a maimed and broken Ice Witch because they had **promised** him a maimed and broken Ice Witch. He had certainly paid them enough.

What could have gone wrong? Was her security really THAT good? Had someone warned her? But who? How, even? The only ones who knew anything – and there were few enough of those – were loyal to him (typically out of fear, but that was his preferred method in any case).

Or could it be that she was simply too powerful for them? That had not been among the possibilities he'd entertained, but now was an idea he had to consider. He mulled over the facts:

\- - The royal family of Arendelle had kept the witch secluded for thirteen years (an inauspicious number, to be sure) before she had revealed her wicked sorcery to the world.

\- - She had cast a spell of eternal winter on her own people (and how they could now tolerate her, much less celebrate her, puzzled him sorely).

\- - Her sister had somehow managed to convince her to break the spell. He more than half suspected some sort of unholy union. There were certainly enough rumors. That meant both of them would have to die.

\- - She was a popular monarch. Probably one of the more popular ones in Europa. Again, he calculated that such loyalty could not possibly have come about naturally, and therefore she had cast another enchantment on them, only this time it was much more subtle. It would have to be broken before he could make any real progress.

\- - Finally (incredibly) some of the premier assassins on the planet had died in the attempt to seize her. That, he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around. It should have been quite impossible.

Too many setbacks. Too little information. And now he was under suspicion himself? It was not to be tolerated.

Grimly and with a determined air did he seat himself at his desk. Preparing parchment and quill, he began the first of several letters. Perhaps Arendelle itself was the real problem. It was time to take the gloves off.

. . .

. . .

_Southern Sweden – Saturday 21 August 1841, noon_

Hans had settled on this high, hidden valley about halfway between Arendelle and Lillehammer mostly due to the plentiful game. He was still technically human, and did have to eat (although **cooking** his food had fallen by the wayside nearly two weeks ago). At present he knelt before a small cairn of smooth stones: the sliver of magical ice sat balanced on the topmost rock. He stared at it fixedly. He did that a lot.

The _Handbook_ was again open on his lap. Occasionally a page would turn by itself and he would glance down to read whichever passage happened to be glowing at the time.

The **voice** had shown him many things, and was showing him more. He didn't yet understand the ice, how it remained cold and never melted, but he felt it was only a matter of time.

Inside the _Handbook_, a conversation was taking place.

* HE'S AN IDIOT. *

_* YES. A USEFUL ONE. *_

* USEFUL? AT LEAST THE RUSSIAN KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING. *

_* THE RUSSIAN NEVER LET US TOUCH HIM. *_

* BUT THIS ONE HAS ONLY ONE THING IN HIS MIND: REVENGE ON THAT WOMAN. *

_* AND THAT LET US TRAP HIM. THIS ONE'S SOUL IS FORFEIT NOW, WHICH IS MORE THAN CAN BE SAID FOR THE RUSSIAN. *_

* THAT MAY BE TRUE. BUT THIS ONE'S MAYHEM IS LIMITED, HIS EVIL TOO TIGHTLY FOCUSED. AT LEAST WITH THE RUSSIAN … *

_* DID YOU MISS THE PART WHERE SHE'S A QUEEN? KILLING HER MAY VERY WELL THROW THE ENTIRE COUNTRY INTO TURMOIL. THAT WOULD BE DELICIOUS. I JUST LOVE A GOOD WAR OF SUCCESSION. *_

* … YOU MAKE AN EXCELLENT POINT. BUT DID **YOU** MISS THE PART WHERE THAT ICE SHARD STINKS OF FAERY? I HATE HAVING TO MESS WITH THE FAE! THEY ALWAYS MUCK THINGS UP. *

_* EH. YOU'RE RIGHT, IT DOES. AND HE STILL THINKS SHE'S A WITCH, EVEN THOUGH THE ONLY THING SHE EVER DOES IS MAKE ICE. AND WHILE THAT __**IS**__ A BIT UNSETTLING, I'VE BEEN WORKING ON A THEORY. I BELIEVE THAT SHE HAS ACQUIRED AN ITEM OF POWER. THE FAE LEAVE THOSE LYING AROUND FROM TIME TO TIME. *_

* HMM. COULD BE. BUT WHAT IF SHE'S PART FAE HERSELF? *

_* THAT WOULD MEAN THAT SOME TIME IN THE PAST ONE OF THE FAE FUCKED A HUMAN. CAN YOU EVEN PICTURE THAT? *_

* OKAY, OKAY, SORRY I BROUGHT IT UP. *

_* YOU'RE SUCH A PESSIMIST. *_

* I'M DAMNED. IT'S IN THE JOB DESCRIPTION. *

They both laughed at that inside joke.

. . .

. . .

_Arendelle Castle – Tuesday 24 August 1841, 3:00pm_

A furtive glance around at the assembled members of the Council confirmed the fear that had been growing in the Queen's heart for the last hour. "But … but surely Admiral Naismith …"

"Elsa," Carlos said softly, laying a gentle hand on hers, "he's right. They're all right. I'm the logical choice. I'm expendable." At the sudden terror in her mind, he quickly added, "from a purely administrative standpoint! I don't already have a job here, I have extensive knowledge of metallurgy and of the types of armaments we need … and Arendelle can't really do without anyone else at present. All those who are as qualified as I to conduct the negotiations have more on their plates right now than they can pray over. I have the time, the skill, and the standing."

She knew that. She knew he was right, that they were all correct in their analysis, but she didn't like it even a little. Squeezing his hand, she Sent, _[[ I'm going to miss you something AWFUL! ]]_

_[[ As I will you. But at least we can speak to each other when we want to. That's MUCH more than anyone else in these circumstances would have. ]]_

_[[ It's not the same as holding you, though. ]]_

_[[ Don't I know it! ]]_

"Your Majesty?"

She blinked and looked up at Geert. "I beg your pardon. Woolgathering."

Every man at the table knew how Elsa and Carlos felt about each other. They'd not tried to keep their love a secret, or the fact that they planned to marry. The old Councilman gave her a wistful smile. "I do recall being young. But this is the best we can come up with. Everyone he needs to negotiate with is in Stockholm as we speak, and …"

"Yes. Yes, of course. He's the best choice for our envoy to Sweden." But she didn't have to like it.

. . .

. . .

_Obzha, Russia, east of Lake Lodoga – Tuesday 24 August 1841, 7:00pm_

Silver-gray eyes as cold and hard as glacial ice scanned the epistle lying flat on his desk of polished ebony. The dark-paneled room was not particularly large, and most would consider it quite Spartan in its effects: one chair of carved wood behind the desk; one tall bookcase (half full) and a small cabinet against one wall; a single, round window in the opposite wall, facing north; and a map of Europa on the wall beside the door, where he would see it if he raised his eyes from the desk.

But an impressive abode does not always equate to importance, nor does a lack of ostentation indicate a lack of power. Those unsettling eyes belonged to Maxim Ostapovich, the Khan, the leader of the Guild, and he held that position because none of the other Masters had been able to kill him yet. When he finally became old and feeble enough that he could no longer guard his own life, another would take his place. It was the natural order of things.

He wasn't thinking about that at the moment, though. He had a much bigger concern: reputation. The letter Nicolai Petrov had written contained many pieces of vital information, not the least of which was that the young assassin was utterly convinced that they had been contracted to kill a goddess.

The Khan read through the letter a fourth time, searching but not finding. He knew all the various codes the Guild might use; he knew them so well he had no need of tables or ciphers. They employed methods of hiding information in overtly innocuous missives that were unbreakable without the key. This letter contained none of them.

It did, however, use several specific salutations that convinced the Khan that Nicolai had, himself, written the letter. It was genuine. He was certain. And that was the biggest problem.

As Petrov had explained, seven of their best agents had died in attempting to fulfill the contract, a nearly inconceivable outcome. One had been captured, which should not have been possible at all. The target remained unharmed. And it was all due to magic. Ancient and dreadful and soul-shattering magic. Magic bound up in Winter itself, and the Khan, having been raised north of the Arctic Circle, knew better than most that Winter never took prisoners.

It wasn't as if the Khan were unfamiliar with magic. The Guild used various aspects of it on a regular basis, usually in the form of totems and other devices. It allowed them to do things sometimes that left any investigators in their wake scratching their heads. But those were minor, almost negligible magicks when compared with this woman. She controlled the Winter. She had true power.

So. This sovereign of Arendelle – this Snow Queen – was actually the avatar of a major goddess. While the Khan was not, himself, a religious man (occupational hazard) he understood quite well that there were other realms. That one of the Old Ones had decided to take a turn playing at being human didn't really surprise him. It wouldn't be the first time.

He rose and walked to the cabinet, unlocking it and retrieving a large, wax-impregnated envelope, which he brought back to the desk. Breaking the seal, he pulled out a thin sheaf of papers and laid them out. He was relatively certain that he knew what he'd find as he read through the contract – he didn't maintain his position through inattention to detail – but he wanted to make sure that in each instance where the Cardinal had referred to Elsa of Arendelle, he had called her a witch.

Half an hour later, Maxim pushed the papers back into their original order and dropped them into the envelope. Then he leaned back in his chair and thought about his problem.

Nicolai was correct, technically. They had been misled. That isn't to say the Guild wouldn't have taken the contract anyway … but they would have gone about it in a very different fashion. Just because she was a goddess didn't mean she couldn't be contained. But he had all the ramifications to think about. There would be fallout. The gods had families, too, and striking at one could very easily draw the attention of others. That could be bad for their bottom line (not to mention his lifespan, or his disposition in the afterlife). When one went about the business of killing a god, one's best bet was to trick someone else into doing it.

This Morana, though … he knew a bit about Morana. Enough to understand that if she had allowed Nicolai to write that letter, it would have been purely for her own convenience. Maxim didn't fancy battling an entity who could trap him in a cage of icy needles at a distance on a whim.

Then there was the blood debt. He'd lost eight men. (Nicolai was a write-off. If Morana didn't end up killing him, Maxim would have to.) That couldn't go un-answered. And Cardinal Papella had, indeed, lied to them about the Queen's basic nature. Perhaps Nicolai's suggested solution was the most workable one after all.

Giving a nod, he picked up a small silver handbell and rang it once. Two breaths later his door opened and a short, pale man stepped in. "Yes, my Khan?"

"Assemble the Masters. We're going to send a team to Italy."

. . .

. . .

_Arendelle Castle – Wednesday 25 August 1841, 10:00am_

On the end of its delicate chain, the tiny, faceted sphere twinkled merrily in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the gallery. Anna gave it a little twirl and grinned at her sister. "You finished it!"

Clasping her hands at the small of her back and assuming a remarkably satisfied stance, Elsa nodded. "Not 'it'. Them. Kristoff gets one, too."

"Hot damn!"

"It has an area-effect that's on all the time and will warn you if someone who bears you any ill will gets within a hundred paces. You'll be able to tell who it is."

"Sweet! So what you did with that poisoned arrow really worked!" She caught her sister's eye. "Did you get it to do that other thing, too? The bullet-swatters?"

"Yes, but you have to activate that yourself. Just grab the gem and give it a hard squeeze while you say the word 'Protect'."

Elsa's wide smile led Anna to believe that might not be all. "What else? You're holding something back."

Nearly unable to keep herself from giving a 'squeee', Elsa said, "Put it on. Put it around your neck."

Anna did so, and gave the Queen an expectant look.

"Okay. Now grab it and give it a sharp, downward tug."

A couple of blinks came before Anna said, "Won't that break it loose?"

Elsa only grinned.

Shrugging, the Princess said, "You're the Ice Expert." She yanked down on the tiny ice-drop, and it did come off the chain … and immediately grew into a short sword of blue ice. Her mouth dropping open, Anna stared at it. "That is so freakin' cool!" Catching Elsa's eye, she added, "But now I can't really wear it around my neck."

"Look at the pommel."

Anna tilted the hilt toward her eye. "Yeah? So?"

"See that little hole?"

"Um ... oh, right! Yeah. Again, I say, so?"

"There's a tiny stud left on your necklace. Stick it into the hole."

Anna did so. After a brief puff of ice crystals, the little jewel-like ball of ice once again hung from the chain.

"Oh. My. God."

"So you like it?"

"It's only the most awesome thing EVER!" Quickly she pulled it off again and then gave the sword a few experimental swings. "Wow."

"Oh, you can do better than that."

"No, it's really great!" She executed a few clumsy stabs.

"Anna."

"… What?"

"Why do you think I gave you a short sword?"

"Um … because you don't trust me with a long one?"

That made Elsa roll her eyes. "Anna, do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a big secret from me these days?"

Blushing bright red, Anna blurted, "I didn't want you to worry! And it's good exercise! And Jørgen always has us use wooden swords! And besides, now that we know my body can heal itself, I don't need to-"

"Anna! Wait a minute."

She shut up and stood still.

Stepping forward, Elsa took the younger woman in her arms, pulled the red head against her shoulder. "I love you and I want you safe. I can't be there all the time, so I do the best I can. Making you as much of a threat as possible is just one aspect. And I think learning to handle a sword is a marvelous idea."

"… You do?"

"Of course!" Holding Anna at arm's length, she smiled fondly. "Now. Show me what you know." And she backed away.

"Well … it's kinda hard, without, you know, an opponent."

A few silent gestures later, a knight of ice stood opposite them. It lifted its sword in salute and assumed a battle stance.

Anna's grin lit the hall.

. . .

. . .

**{Author's End Note: I had a ton of fun with this part of the series. Hope you did, too! The next chapter is the big ... well. A lot happens. Much of it is already written, so maybe there won't be QUITE as long a hiatus before it posts. Here's wishing.}**

**\- Con**


	39. Complication

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: My deepest apologies to one and all. An insurance company has a commercial that states, "Life comes at you hard."**_

_**They don't know the half of it.**_

_**In the twenty days (good Lord, nearly three weeks?!) since the last post, I have:  
…spent the night in hospital with a kid on suicide watch,  
…had a shingles attack,  
…come down with an intestinal bug,  
…spent two days in hospital myself with atrial fibrillation,  
…and still managed to work an average of 68 hours each week.  
**_

_**My mother-in-law had gall bladder surgery that 'went south' and is going to be in a rehab hospital for a month. My wife has been gone for a week now, down in Florida taking care of her. And I'm not going to go into any details about what my insane adopted children have been up to … but it's been expensive. Really expensive.**_

_**They say stress is a killer. I'm just going to pretend it doesn't exist. That way it won't bother me … right? Right?**_

_**ANYWAY … this is not the final chapter. I thought it was going to be, but a lot is still happening, so I split it into two. Roughly half of the NEXT chapter is already written, so MAYBE I won't be leaving you all hanging so long before the final installment. I hope.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 38: Complication**

. . .

. . .

_Arendelle Castle – Friday 27 August 1841, 1:00pm_

Sudden unseasonable heat had blanketed Arendelle City on Thursday, leading many businesses to close their doors between the hours of eleven and three. To Carlos it felt a bit like home (not that the heat bothered him … he didn't even feel it unless he concentrated). In Andalusia the siesta wasn't just a good idea; staying in the shade and napping during the hottest hours could save one's life.

But these pale northerners weren't used to it, even a little bit. Most had little in the way of clothing light enough for temperatures over about twenty-five degrees, and the heat had hit thirty-three according to the thermometer in the apothecary's shop. Add in a stifling level of humidity, and the misery was nearly universal. A delegation of shop owners, masons and taverners had come to the castle toward the end of the day to petition Elsa to please, please, please Do Something About It. (After all, what's the point of having a Snow Queen if you can't cheat the weather every now and then?) She had obliged them with a light snowfall to cool things off, and a series of ice pillars lining all the main streets to keep it that way. Many of the townsfolk took to gathering around them to pass the time of day and gossip. They were such a hit that Elsa decided to leave them there until the weather turned.

Yes, the citizens of Arendelle had a LOT of reasons to love their monarch. Her penchant for fair and impartial justice was one of them. Thus the trials.

. . .

. . .

_Arendelle Magistrate Court – Week of 06 September 1841_

When Hans had first shown up with his clutch of picked assassins, there had been no point in holding a trial to determine their fates. They had tried to kill Elsa in front of her Guard, her Council, and several servants, and she had stopped them, encasing the lot of them in ice. She exercised her authority as Queen Regnant and simply ordered their execution a couple of days later.

In this instance, though, there were more individuals involved, and the action (and crimes) had been spread out over a wider area. Elsa wanted to make sure in the first place that she didn't miss any of them, and in the second that no one's guilt would ever be called into question.

During the opening exercises, it was decided that the men would be tried singly, starting early on Tuesday. Detailed before the court were the particulars of each one's crimes, and Elsa and Anna both gave their testimony a few times. With the various legally mandatory pronouncements and procedures, the series of trials consumed most of two days, and Thursday evening found the royal ladies both exhausted and emotionally wrung out. They consoled themselves with chocolate, and then Anna escaped to the embrace of the man she loved. Elsa had to make do with Sending to Carlos far away in Stockholm, but she was glad enough to have that option.

The seven conspirators were all found guilty, and all sentenced to death. Thankfully, since the cases were tried under the jurisdiction of the Magistrate of Arendelle, Elsa didn't need to have anything to do with the actual carrying-out of the sentences. Though she acknowledged the justice of the situation, she couldn't help but feel that there ought to have been a better way. A higher way. Something that didn't involve killing.

Killing, when she had to think about it, really bothered her. She was still having those dreams. Violent dreams. Carlos knew about them (there was no way he wouldn't) but Elsa had decided her sister didn't need the worry. It wasn't Anna's problem.

Once she and Carlos had finished their nightly exchange (both were busy, and both needed their sleep, so they didn't Send very long) Elsa repaired to her rooms. Opening the wide window in her chamber, she crafted an ice platform that grew and lifted her up, up, up to above the highest spire of the castle. The night being pellucidly clear, she was able to see all of the city proper and a good chunk of the near countryside. But that wasn't what she was after.

Lying at her length on the ice, she sent out a request, soon answered as her ice-falcons began showing up. They perched quietly (of necessity, as she had not given them voices) on a convenient rail around the edge, waiting with a patience that only such artificial life could evince. That sort of patience had kept Marshmallow in placid quiescence in front of the Ice Palace for more than a year.

Elsa spent a few minutes impressing her wishes on the icy creatures, and then they took flight, spreading out in a widening circle, her own psyche riding along. If she couldn't be with Carlos, enjoying the wonders of real flight, this vicarious experience was the next best thing. Her smile grew joyful and contented as the minutes crept by.

. . .

. . .

_Kungliga slottet, Stockholm – Thursday 09 September 1841, 9:50pm_

The long hall echoed as highly polished boots pulled a swift and regular clacking noise from the ornate hardwood parquet. With the state dinner finally (_finally!_) over, Arendelle's trade representative made his way back to his room, his thunderous expression assuring that anyone he encountered gave him a wide berth._ It's a damn good thing_, Carlos ruminated darkly, _that I've had so many years to learn patience. Otherwise, someone might have gotten skewered by now, and they could take their treaty and shove it up their collective asses sideways._

Still, he couldn't kick about the accommodations, and the food was excellent (as was the wine, with which they had plied him liberally) … but if that pompous, condescending old fart of an ambassador kept dodging his questions like that during their meeting tomorrow, there would be blood. _You'd think, as much as they want to have Arendelle patrolling their western coast for them, that they'd at least make a half-assed __**attempt**__ to be civil and above-board. Yet they act like I'm trying to rob them blind!_

He arrived at his rooms to discover, in addition to the guard that kept unwanted visitors out, a short, spare man with thinning white hair standing at parade rest in the hall, facing mostly away from him. Taking a few seconds to study the fellow, Carlos then advanced and stepped around to his side. "Is there something I can help you with?" He purposefully left off any sort of honorific.

The man didn't startle, which gave him a point in Carlos's book. Instead, he turned gracefully, gave Carlos a lightning-fast once-over, and executed a deep bow. "Senor Carlos Diego de la Maria, Hidalgo of Andalusia and Prince Consort Presumptive of Arendelle! Well met, sir."

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage."

"A thousand pardons. I am Prefect of the Consulate Henri Barrot du Pont, attaché to the French Ambassador."

In response to Carlos's raised eyebrow, du Pont explained, "I have witnessed how poorly you are being used at the hands of Ambassador Kjellsson."

"Truly? And your point?"

"My point is that I wish to offer you an alternative."

"… Is that so."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why does mighty France wish to gain tiny Arendelle as a diplomatic ally?"

"That WAS the question foremost in my mind."

"I believe the details would better be discussed in private." Du Pont sent a significant glance toward the (Swedish) guard.

"Very well." Carlos never went anywhere unarmed. If this was to be an attempt at assassination, it would be an EXCEEDINGLY short interview. He held out a hand. "After you."

The guard opened the door for them and shut it afterward. Two gaslight globes were already burning in the receiving chamber. Carlos walked over and took one of the half-dozen chairs. "So. What's on your mind?"

Du Pont continued to stand. "You were not present at Queen Elsa's coronation."

"True. But how would you know?"

"Because I _**was**_ there, as attaché to Ambassador d'Espèrey."

_Ah-ha!_ Drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, Carlos closely considered the Frenchman. "So then you witnessed the, ah, unusual events."

"I did, as did the Ambassador. When we returned to Paris after dropping that odious Prince off at the Southern Isles, we made a full report to Foreign Minister Thiers. He was most excited over the prospect of an alliance, and promoted the idea to King Phillipe, but as with most of his other suggestions, he was studiously ignored."

"So Louis Phillipe has no interest in rapprochement?"

"Our illustrious monarch is interested in his perfumed mistresses, and in cozying up to Avalon, and in lark-tongue soufflé and _eau de vie de poire_. He wallows in luxury like a sybarite while his countrymen go hungry. The weather has been very favorable to such irresponsibility for the last couple of years, but it's eventually going to cost him his head if he doesn't make some changes."

Carlos chuckled and pulled his right ankle up onto his left knee, wrapping long fingers around his boot. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

"My apologies. I witnessed some of the Terror, and have no desire for an encore. But, no, to answer your question, the King dismissed our report as nonsense."

"And Minister Thiers?"

"He believes us. He has collected corroborating reports from other sources, and is determined to forge a relationship between our kingdoms if it is at all possible … assuming the King doesn't force him to resign soon."

"A worthy goal. But what if Queen Elsa has no interest in such an alliance?"

"It is apparent to me that she has an interest in _**some**_ sort of union, otherwise you would not be here. And if the Swedes – who snubbed her invitation and did not make an appearance at her coronation – are too dense to realize what could be achieved, why then …"

"You're missing some important pieces of information, Mssr. du Pont."

The man raised his chin slightly and clasped his hands at the small of his back. "May I assume that you would be willing to enlighten me?"

"Scandinavia in general, and the Norwegian region in specific, has never felt an alliance with France to have much value. The two areas have different spheres of power, different aims for their operations. France is, and has been for some time, rather more devoted to colonization than any of the northern nations, apart from Denmark, and even _they_ stayed out of Africa and the New World."

"… All quite true. Which raises the question again of what you hope to accomplish here."

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, Carlos laced his fingers together and thought about it for a few moments. "I don't suppose it would do any harm."

"What is that?"

"Giving you that information."

"I am pleased you think so."

"If nothing else, it might give me leverage with Ambassador Kjellsson tomorrow."

"And what might France do that could tip the scales in our favor?"

"Before we get to that, would you like something to drink?"

A pause and a slightly raised eyebrow preceded, "I wouldn't refuse a glass of light wine or small beer."

Carlos rose and went to the bar that was kept carefully stocked. He privately had assumed that the Swedes wanted him tipsy enough to be off his game, and he had no problem whatsoever with obliging them. He appreciated fine cognac as much as the next man (probably more). Sad for them, and their liquor budget, that alcohol had no effect on him. He inspected a small keg, tapped it, and drew off two tall glasses, handing one to du Pont. "Now, then. Please have a seat."

When they had gotten comfortable Carlos observed, "For someone who is an attaché to an Ambassador, you have a refreshingly forthright manner."

"I have paid attention to your interactions with the people you've met here. You are a truthful man yourself, and seem to appreciate artlessness in others. I decided, as the Avalonians like to say, not to pull my punches." He took a swallow and licked his upper lip. "I have a goal of my own, as we have discussed. All I want to do is find common ground with _your_ goals."

"Therefore the need to know what my goals entail."

"Precisely."

The Spaniard slowly sloshed his beer around a few times before draining the glass, then set it down and nodded. "Very well. The Crown of Arendelle is well aware that there are other nations, some quite powerful, that might look upon her as a threat."

"Those who do not know her."

"Heh. Quite. And that is most of them. At any rate, it has been decided that Arendelle's small navy needs some … improvements."

"And you feel the Swedes are the best source for these improvements? How so?"

"It would be a relatively natural alliance, assuming common goals. However, the last few days have demonstrated nothing of the sort. They expect me to come to them bowed, hat in hand, and beg for their magnanimity. That, in a word, is not on."

"I'd think not."

"Since you have been forthcoming with your plans, I will be as well. Arendelle has one small foundry. It is capable of producing neither the cannon nor the ordnance that the Queen's advisors have deemed necessary. Foundries being the large, expensive, labor-intensive undertakings that they are, the Queen has decided to trade elsewhere for weapons rather than build a new one."

"A sound financial decision."

"Thank you, we thought so. The logical source would be Sweden. As part of the deal, Arendelle would agree to patrol the southwestern coast, freeing up the Swedish navy for a more intimidating presence in the inner seas. The Ambassador, however, is being infuriatingly intractable."

Du Pont merely blinked at him for a moment. "So all you want out of this deal is a few cannon and some shot?"

"Thirty-six cannon. And we need exploding shot."

"What bore?"

"32-pounders, at a minimum."

"Huh." He stroked his chin, staring off into space. "I'm not as thoroughly versed in the operations of France's war machine as perhaps I would like, but I feel quite certain that supplying such things would be well within our capabilities."

"Considering the navy that France has afloat, I'm not surprised."

"But … only thirty-six cannon? That would outfit one medium-sized cruiser. I guess you don't have any ships-of-the-line?"

"Just one."

"… Um … I'm no expert in naval tactics, but one such ship would take between seventy and eighty guns to be truly effective."

"Normally, yes. Arendelle is going about things a bit differently. For now, thirty-six are all we need."

"Then you really aren't interested in conquest."

"Not even slightly. We only wish to protect our fishing fleets and guard any trade vessels within the scope of Arendelle's sovereignty." He offered a wry grin. "And patrol the coast for Sweden, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen."

"Huh." Du Pont wandered back and forth across the room, thinking over the situation. "What were you considering paying for the cannon?"

"Eh … what we were _considering_ was trading patrol duty for a good chunk of the cost."

"That seems reasonable." Du Pont rubbed his chin. "I'm puzzled that Kjellsson isn't going for it."

"He wants Arendelle to pay the full cost of the cannon, and three-quarters of the cost of the shot."

"What does that amount to?"

Carlos named a pair of figures.

"My word. They certainly are proud of their work."

"That was my thought."

"Does Arendelle have that sort of money to spend?"

"Not really. That's why I haven't signed anything."

"But they'd be saving tens of thousands of speciedalers by not having to put a navy in the Atlantic."

"Exactly."

"Then his scheme makes no sense. There's something else going on."

"Indeed. That much I'd deduced. But I can't figure out his game."

"By your leave, I will make some inquiries of my own." His eyes flicked back and forth once. "You came here by yourself."

"I did."

"That's somewhat unusual for a Crown representative."

"Arendelle is handling another crisis at the moment. I didn't feel they could spare anyone else."

"Not even a couple of guards?"

"I do not require guarding."

Du Pont's brow raised briefly. "I see. Ah … not to overstep my bounds, but one of the Proverbs states that pride cometh before a fall."

"As I am well aware. I am also well aware of my own abilities. I assure you, there is no cause for worry on that count."

"As you say."

"You should also be aware of another point in the negotiations."

"Oh?"

"Queen Elsa has no interest in participating in anyone else's war. She is capable of aiding in the defense of Arendelle, should it come to that, but she will never be used as a weapon by anyone. Ever."

That brought a few blinks from the Frenchman. Carlos could practically see the gears spinning in his head. At length du Pont said, "That's a fine and high-born position to take. But as I am sure she is aware, one cannot count on the good intentions of other nations, or on a lack of hubris in their leaders."

"Of course. She was, in fact, put in that position earlier this year. She was more than willing to take on those who attacked Arendelle. But if Minister Thiers thinks that she will lend her aid in conquering Spain, you should see to it that his assumptions get corrected."

"Hmm." That gave du Pont a great deal to chew on. "I see. Well, I'll admit that _**was**_ one of his hopes. They're chopping themselves to pieces down there, and could really use some stability."

"Stability? Is that what they're calling it now?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not going to deny that the current bate of civil wars is one great, roiling mass of stupidity. But, call me crazy if you wish, getting annexed by France just doesn't seem like a step in the right direction."

The expression on Carlos's features that accompanied that statement led du Pont to the accurate conclusion that he should hold his tongue on the subject. Blinking thoughtfully a few times, he said, "Well, in any case, I am sure that France's naval yards could supply your cannon needs for a goodly amount less than what Sweden wants."

"Now that, we can talk about." He indicated a chair. "Have a seat. Do you like cigars?"

. . .

. . .

_The Queen's Chambers, Arendelle Castle – Saturday 11 September 1841, 6:00pm_

The slight tingle at the back of her mind alerted Elsa to Carlos's desire for communication. Glancing at the clock on her mantle, she smiled in pleasure at the early hour. Usually he waited until after nine. She connected the Sending.

_[[ Dear One! This is a pleasant surprise! ]]_

_[[ I have another one for you as well. ]]_

_[[ The negotiations went to your liking? ]]_

_[[ It could hardly have been better. As soon as Kjellsson found out that France had jumped into the fray – and, for your further information and pleasure, France wants to establish a permanent Embassy in Arendelle – he was stumbling all over himself to curry your favor and make concessions. ]]_

_[[ Marvelous! So what did we get? ]]_

_[[ The cannon at twenty percent of what he had quoted at first … ]]_

_[[ Wow! That's fantastic! ]]_

_[[ And 720 canister shells … for three kroner each. ]]_

Carlos could feel her mouth drop open. _[[ That's … that's practically __**giving**__ them away! ]]_

_[[ Yes, it is. By my calculations, you'll be able to pay for the entire contract out of the unclaimed recovered spoils from the crime wave last July. ]]_

_[[ Oh … um … I, uh, hardly think that's … right. ]]_

_[[ Elsa … we talked about this. ]]_

_[[ … Yes … but … ]]_

_[[ No, Darling. Your people did an amazing job of tracking down the victims and returning their goods. But even after everyone claimed to be satisfied – and, if you'll recall, left for their homes – you still had over seven thousand pieces of gold, and three times that in silver. Not to mention a few pricey gems. ]]_

_[[ Well … okay, we do, but that doesn't mean no one will ever … ]]_

_[[ Sweetheart, that's __**exactly**__ what it means. You alerted everyone. All your citizens and employees, all the guests. You even went so far as to contact shipmasters who docked during July, just to make sure. You've done everything that is even remotely reasonable. There's no one left. It's your money now. ]]_

_[[ It still feels wrong, somehow. ]]_

_[[ And you know that most of it is likely money that the criminals already had with them when they got to Arendelle in the first place. If anything, you could look at it as recompense for the misery your kingdom went through. ]]_

She chewed her lip reflectively. _[[ Yes, you've said that before. ]]_

_[[ And I was right. ]]_

The sigh came clearly through the connection. _[[ Very well. ]]_

_[[ You should be pleased. ]]_

_[[ I am pleased! I don't know that anyone else could have landed such a favorable contract. ]]_

_[[ I'll preen when the cannon are on your ships. Meanwhile, with the contract signed and sealed, there isn't anything keeping me in Stockholm. ]]_

_[[ … Eeeeeeeeeeee! Does that mean … ]]_

_[[ There's a station coach system from here to Oslo that I would have used on the trip over if I'd known about it. They only stop every forty miles just to change horses, so the trip only takes two days. I'm already packed and we leave at dawn. Then from Oslo, the trip should only be another four days. ]]_

_[[ Oh, Honey! Less than a week? Oh, I can't __**wait**__ to hold you again! ]]_

Happily, they chatted on in that vein for another half hour, until Anna dropped by Elsa's room with cocoa.

. . .

. . .

_A snowy crest, just below the tree line – Tuesday 14 September 1841, 1:00pm_

Sunlight struck, was gathered and reflected, amplified and cast about with abandon by the white landscape. Ordinarily, staring at it unprotected was a sure path to snow blindness. Hans, however, was no longer ordinary. The glare didn't bother him at all.

Depending from a thin cord, the shard of magical ice dangled in front of his face, spinning slowly one way and then the other, glinting in a constant series of sparkles. As it moved, some of the tiny scintillations glanced off Hans's leering grin, and the many sharp teeth he now possessed.

He knew the ice now. Knew it, understood it. He squinted in concentration, exercised his will on the ice …

A dark film seemed to pour out of it, filtering the sunlight like an oily mist, casting a pall of despair over everything in sight. Impossibly, Hans's grin got wider.

Now he had only to craft the right plan, plot out his moves carefully …

. . .

. . .

**_End Note:_**

**_Stay tuned, people. A LOT of stuff is about to happen._**


	40. Solution

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts and place your tray tables in their upright and locked position. And hang on tight.**_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 39: Solution**

. . .

. . .

_Aboard the "Crest", bound for Arendelle – Thursday 16 September 1841, 8:45pm_

During the evening meal something had occurred to Carlos, so when he repaired to his cabin, he pulled out the two contracts and began reading them. There was a comparison somewhere that might pose a problem. He thought it had to do with the frequency of Arendelle's patrols. Something about a stipulation of use …

_Knock-knock-knock_

Visitors at this hour? Carlos stood, unlimbered his blades, and said, "Come."

The Captain stuck his head in the door. "There you are."

Carlos cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Where else would I be? Is there a problem?"

"No-no, no problem. Good news, in fact, given what you told me of your fiancée. We had a good wind Saturday, a better one all of today, and it looks like a good one's ahead for the night. We can plan on pulling into Arendelle harbor a day early.

Carlos's father had had an expression he liked to use: 'grinning like a mule eating a thorn bush'. That was exactly the look on the Spaniard's face at that news. "Excellent!"

"We should arrive around mid-afternoon, barring difficulties. I knew you were in a rush to get back to your Lady Queen. Just thought I'd let you in on the secret. Pleasant dreams." And he pulled the door shut and left.

It was nearly time anyway for his evening 'chat' with Elsa, so he went ahead and Sent to her, _[[ Darling? ]]_

With barely a detectable pause, she answered, _[[ __**There's**__ that future husband of mine! You're early and I can feel excitement coming off you like heat from a forge. What's up? ]]_

_[[ The Captain says we'll be in the harbor tomorrow sometime after noon! ]]_

_[[ That … Is … __**Wonderful**__**!** ]]_

_[[ I was certainly pleased to learn of it. I cannot WAIT to hold you again! ]]_

_[[ Oh, I have missed you so intensely …]]_

Several dozen endearments later, Carlos caught a pensive mood over their connection. _[[ Darling? Is something amiss? ]]_

_[[ What? Oh. No. It's just that Anna will be aggravated that she missed you. ]]_

_[[ Oh, did they leave early? ]]_

_[[ Since they didn't really have a set agenda – you know Anna – they left when she felt like Kristoff could stand it. That was yesterday. ]]_

_[[ So. Their pre-honeymoon tour, then? ]]_

_[[ Right. They stopped in Rosendal today. They'll be visiting Aard tomorrow. ]]_

_[[ Heh. Taking their time. That's what, maybe two or three leagues a day? ]]_

_[[ Something like that. It leaves plenty of free time in their evenings. ]]_

_[[ Well, __**that**__ will keep them occupied for a couple of weeks. ]]_

_[[ Yes, until she gets bored with the countryside. She's still trying to talk Kristoff into a voyage. Wants to visit Corona. ]]_

_[[ I don't blame her. Corona's beautiful. ]]_

_[[ I'd like to visit there myself, save for … ]]_

Their connection grew a little fuzzy while she spoke with someone. Then she was back. _[[ Sweetheart, I've got a bit of a duty in the kitchen. ]]_

_[[ Since when do you cook? ]]_

_[[ Very ha. They got a late shipment of meat and I need to freeze it. ]]_

_[[ Of course. ]] _His grin telegraphed perfectly._ [[ Tomorrow, then? ]]_

_[[ Yes. Oh, __**YES!**__ ]]_

. . .

. . .

_The village of Aard, north of Arendelle – Friday 17 September 1841, 3:10am_

Ole Paulsrud had been the mayor of Aard for nearly eleven years, and that was no accident. A shrewd fellow, he had a knack for seeing both sides of an issue that more than once had prevented a lot of bad blood. His head for numbers didn't hurt anything, either, and most of the townsfolk were grateful to let him handle their trade issues. Nor had it gone to his head. A relatively humble man, all things considered, he had a good idea of his worth to the community, and the esteem in which he was held. All of this led, most nights, to a sound and uncluttered sleep.

Tonight was to be a stark exception.

It began with weird, disturbing dreams … hazy, frightening images of things that didn't feel as if they belonged to this world. That had progressed through increasingly unsettling and violent nightmares, eventually bringing him upright in bed with a strangled cry, his pillow nearly ripped open in his hands.

His wife, Magda, jerked, turned over, eyes still misted with sleep. "Ole? Wha's wrong?"

He wasn't sure how to answer her. Trying to control his breathing, he got out of bed and used the chamber pot in the corner, shaking the kinks out of his arthritic right knee. When he finished, he said only, "Bad dreams. I'm going to take a walk."

She made an unintelligible noise and fell back into slumber.

Ole put his boots on and ambled out to the porch, staring up at the sky. The night was fine, clear and dark, the new moon hiding up there somewhere so that the stars could perform their dance for his benefit, using the Milky Way as a stage. He went back inside to collect his pipe and then set off toward the far end of the village, hoping that the walk and the nicotine would clear his mind enough to let him sleep. He for _sure_ couldn't afford to nod off in Princess Anna's presence. That would be a HUGE _faux pas_.

Warm breezes flitted along the street, surprising him at the corners of the houses, now caressing his face, now ruffling the hair at his neck, soft, tentative, hopeful, sort of the way Magda used to touch him back when they were younger and she still loved him. That thought skipped through his mind and vanished. It wasn't something to dwell on. He stopped under a tree to fill his bowl.

A quick strike of a match and a couple of pulls later and his lungs filled with blessed, blessed smoke. He puffed contentedly for a minute … two …

It began as a sort of itch, a discomfort between his shoulder blades. A feeling of being watched. Watched by something large and dangerous. He backed up against the tree, held his pipe down at his side, and let his eyes dart up and down the street, wishing suddenly that he had thought to bring his pistol along. Ears strained against the quiet darkness, he realized shortly that the night-birds and frogs normally active around the stream that served as the town's northern border remained eerily silent.

Not good.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

He took off back toward his house as fast as his knee would let him.

Something grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him so suddenly it nearly wrenched his spine. He drew a quick breath to scream, but hard hands choked that off. Then the creature whipped him around, and he was nose-to-nose with …

… he couldn't speak … couldn't think. It had eyes that glowed red.

His grandmother's tales of vampires in the high mountains, evil spirits living on the outer edges of civilization skittered through his mind.

He scrabbled at the monstrously strong hands that were not-so-slowly choking the life out of him, but the thing that had trapped him caught and held his gaze for a long breath … two … and then spoke a word Ole didn't understand. In mere moments his eyes glazed over, his consciousness grayed out and he hung limp. The thing eased the pressure on his throat, set him gently back on the cobbles, where he swayed in the breeze but didn't fall.

"There is a small task you are going to do for me now," said Hans. "Listen carefully."

. . .

. . .

_Arendelle Castle – Friday 17 September 1841, 10:10am_

The rider came tearing into town at a fast gallop, his horse lathered, yelling for people to make way. Heading straight for the castle causeway, he didn't slow until drawing rein in the courtyard. Pulling a deep breath, he bellowed, "Queen Elsaaaa!"

The Queen, who happened to be in the library with the windows open, heard him quite plainly and ran to peer out. "Jurg? What? What is it?" she called.

He spotted her face as she leaned out, and waved something at her. "I have a message from the Princess!"

A dozen horrible possibilities occurred to her in each of the next five seconds. "Stay there!" A long slide of ice appeared, and Elsa was shortly deposited in front of the horse. Jurg handed her the letter.

In Kristoff's uncertain scrawl, she read:

_Anna took verry ill.  
Get Doct Odum an hurry.  
Wee're in Aard at  
the mayers house._

Turning to one of the servants now clustered around the front door, Elsa directed, "Get Doctor Odum here immediately!" Then to the rider, "Put your horse away. I'll get us there faster." Concentrating briefly, she raised a huge cloud of icy crystals that swirled madly for a second before vanishing to reveal another of the huge, spidery conveyances. It tipped to the ground and she stepped up on it.

_[[ Carlos! ]]_

_[[ What?! What's wrong? ]]_

_[[ I don't know yet. A rider just got here with a message from Kristoff saying Anna had fallen ill. I'm headed up there to see what's going on. ]]_

_[[ … I didn't think Anna could __**get**__ sick. ]]_

_[[ She can't. ]]_

_[[ … Oh, crap. But … but even if it's poison … ]]_

_[[ If it's poison, I'll cure it. ]]_

_[[ Yes, you will. Do you want me to … ]]_

_[[ No, you stay on the ship. Are you still on schedule? ]]_

_[[ Captain told me this morning he figured it would be about two o'clock when we get there, maybe a touch sooner. The wind is perfect and he's hung every scrap of sail they have. ]]_

_[[ Okay … we will be back by then. I should be able to get to Aard in about forty or forty-five minutes. I'll bring Anna back here. ]]_

_[[ … If you say so. But keeping my ability to fly a secret does NOT take precedence over … ]]_

_[[ I know, Dear. I know. I'll call if I need you. ]]_

_[[ See that you do. And go ahead and activate your personal … ]]_

_[[ Already done. ]]_

_[[ Good girl. ]]_

. . .

. . .

_Outside the village of Aard, Friday 17 September 1841, 10:48am_

Elsa let nothing hinder her in her haste to reach her sister.

Since the platform on the spider's back was big enough, and the ice-creature would not notice the difference in weight, Elsa took four of her Guard along, with Doctor Odum, Jurg, and herself bringing the party's number to seven. She reasoned that if someone had attacked Anna, there might be people there who would need to be detained.

She grilled Jurg on the events of the morning. The party had awoken at dawn (much to Anna's grumbling distaste) and after a good breakfast had set out on the plodding, hour-and-a-half journey from Rosendal to Aard. They arrived about eight thirty, to be met at the edge of the village by the mayor. He invited the royal couple to his house. Not fifteen minutes later, Kristoff had stumbled out, called to the Guard, and handed them the letter for Elsa, urging them to deliver it with all speed. Jurg had the fastest horse, so he was chosen to make the trip.

Elsa used two fingers to rub the frown between her eyes. "Was the Princess her usual self on the trip to Aard?"

"Oh, yes, Your Majesty! She was very, ah … um …"

"Loud?"

"… Talkative."

The Queen nodded.

"She kinda bounces. A lot."

"Indeed. And how," inquired Elsa, "did Kristoff look when he came out?"

"Um … worried? Kinda pale. His hand was shaking."

"What did he say, exactly?"

"My, ah, memory ain't … I'm not sure. I wasn't the one he talked to first. I, uh, heard him say, '_Get this to Elsa as fast as you can._' Then Sergeant Roberg handed me the letter and said, '_Get gone_,' and I left."

"He said 'Elsa', not 'Queen Elsa' or 'the Queen'?"

"Nope. Just 'Elsa'. That's all. I _do_ remember that much."

She thought that over for a minute. "Very well. Did you get a good look at the mayor?"

"I did, yeah, um, I mean yes, Your Majesty."

"… And?"

"Um … he looked … like the mayor? He had a burgundy jacket on, and a kinda fancy hat."

"Did he look … distressed? At all?"

"Not, um, not that I noticed."

Elsa paid attention to her driving. The closer they got to Aard, the more highly-focused she became, her attention on the shortest path as opposed to the curves of the main road. That entailed climbing over certain obstacles, jumping streams (she didn't trust the bridge to hold them anyway, as the ice-creature was no light-weight) and knocking over the occasional tree. Along the way she decided to call her falcons, just in case, and soon they were pacing the group. One of the possible scenarios she came up with was that the whole thing was a ruse. She would have to be on her guard for-

The trap was sudden and vicious. One second they were flying along the road, and the next, something cut the legs on the right side out from under them. They all went flying.

Elsa instinctively created a huge mound of snow for everyone to fall in. She got herself righted in a second, and used the eyes of her falcons to determine from whence the attack came. She was almost too late.

A hastily-erected dam of ice slowed or deflected the flurry of greenish darts from the nearby wood, sparing the party from more-or-less-immediate death. Elsa recognized instantly the magic behind them, and fought down both her fear and her gorge. So. It _was_ this 'Jan', then. Very well.

Throwing a thick dome of the hard, blue ice over the others in her group, she shot away toward the village on an icy spire, quickly turning back to cast some of her magic where her falcons told her the attack had come. More of the missiles came at her, but her wards batted them down effectively. A cry of rage and disbelief sounded from the trees. That pulled a grim smile across her face as she sped up the road. _Didn't think that would happen, did you, Jan?_ Two of her falcons dived toward her enemy.

A quick thrashing marked Jan's position. She peered at him through icy, avian eyes. Blue talons extended, ready to rip and gouge. They were almost upon him …

The flare of crimson fire blotted out her vision. It took her a few seconds to blink herself back to normal. She was down to six falcons. A very unladylike expression strained to get past her lips, but she clamped them shut. Sending the rest of her aerial squadron to attack from six directions in quick succession, she once more called up her power, re-creating the monstrous things that had come so close to ending Jan's life the last time they met.

The Beasts raced toward Jan's position. Elsa took a few seconds to absorb the layout of the land. She also called Carlos.

_[[ I've found Jan. Or, really, he found me. ]]_

_[[ WHAT?! I'll be right there! ]]_

_[[ I didn't mean for you to come. I'm just informing you of … ]]_

_[[ Too late. I'm already airborne. Are you in Aard? ]]_

Sigh. _[[ Basically. Just south. Gotta go. ]]_

Through the eyes of her creations, Elsa got a few good looks at her foe, and it brought her up short with a gasp. He wasn't even … quite human. So very different from their last encounter. Had he been in disguise before, and _this_ his true form? Or had he been altered _that_ much over the last few weeks? He was bigger, as were his teeth, and his skin had a deep reddish hue, glistening and scaly …

Pulling her mind together, she gave a quick shudder and settled her resolve. She would have to make this quick. Two of her falcons had scored hits, but even as she realized that fact, another burst of crimson dissolved them. She could feel the heat on her face, even from this distance.

Maybe this wasn't going to be quite as straightforward as she'd thought. She shook her head and thought, _Concentrate!_

Her Beasts got to him then, zeroing in to strike …

… to strike …

… what?

They slowed. Stopped. _No! Attack! What are you doing? Attack!_ Her vision through their eyes darkened and snuffed out. With rising alarm, she could see a deep gray mist filling the area where Jan stood, a growing miasma that crept out in all directions with deceptive speed. It blunted her perception, it …

Where were they?

She couldn't feel her Beasts.

But then she could see them. Lumbering toward her … swinging their great heads slowly back and forth … looking for something … their eyes no longer black … now red … looking, she suddenly knew with blinding clarity, for her, and her mind refused to accept it.

_How is that possible?!_

They began accelerating, running now toward her, shaking the ground,

_how is __that__ possible_,

they spotted her, jaws gaping wide, lunging,

_how__ is that possible_,

closing the distance, resisting all her efforts at control,

_how is that even __**possible**__?_

At the last fraction of a second she flung her hands apart. Her creations (no longer HER creations) disintegrated into watery mist.

Questions and doubts and the beginnings – no, _**more**_ than beginnings – of fear crowded in on her.

The dark miasma had flowed along behind them. Flowed past them. Flowed over her.

The air was thick … thick and hot.

Thinking was suddenly … difficult.

She swayed.

The world took on a grayish cast.

… Withered.

… Barren.

… Wan.

Her breath … slowed.

the roaring in her ears,  
she hadn't really noticed it before,  
it was always there,  
not a roar, but a whisper,  
_... you can't,  
... you mustn't,  
... you shouldn't,  
_conceal …  
_... can't love,  
... mustn't love  
... shouldn't love,  
_don't feel …  
she was so tired,  
the whispers always there,  
yes,  
always,  
and she should listen to them,  
_... a monster,  
... unworthy,  
_she sank heavily to her knees,_  
... no love,  
... never love,  
... shun love,  
... you only hurt,  
... hurt those around you,  
_her eyes closed in despair,  
_... killed your sister,  
... beloved sister,  
... dead,  
... you killed,  
... you,  
... killed,  
... because of you,  
... your fault,  
... only you,_  
no one can truly love a monster,  
_... despair,_  
how could she have thought …

_[[ … . . . … elsa … . . . … ]]_

another whisper,  
far away this one,  
somehow familiar,  
_... how long has it been?_  
but there are footsteps,  
approaching,  
a low, hard laugh,  
she's a hideous monster,  
no one could love …

_[[ … … Elsa … … ]]_

not a whisper but a voice,  
a voice she knew,  
a voice of hope,  
BUT ...  
"Hello, Elsa,"  
the other voice,  
like acid,  
like a sponge filling her throat,  
like dirt covering her face,  
"so nice to see you again."  
that laugh,  
but even hope was dead …

_[[ … Elsa! … ]]_

No,  
There is hope,  
Strength returning,  
Joy in the voice,  
Peace above all,  
Joy and love,  
BUT ...  
"Now, Ice Witch,"  
the other voice,  
a caress,  
like a wood rasp  
on her knuckles,  
"you will die,"  
Her heart, beating …

_**[[ ELLLSAAAA! ]]**_

She jerked, half awake …

_**[[ DUCK! ]]**_

The word triggered an instinctive reaction: instantly she cringed down and to one side. The sword passed through the space where her neck had been.

"NO!" Her enemy's voice grated across her hearing, painful, heavy, sharp. "You will not deny me your-"

Carlos dropped on Hans like a boulder, driving his dirk to the hilt into the red, scaly back, and driving the possessed thing into the ground.

But Hans threw him off like a doll. Carlos caught himself in a three-point landing, drew his other knife, and attacked. Hans used that big book he carried both as a shield and a club.

The two whirled about each other. Elsa caught glimpses of the battle, hellishly fast, gouts of black blood, but it was all she could do to make her mind work. Her head felt stuffed full of cobwebs-wet wool-rotting meat, and she shook it repeatedly, spitting to get the horrid taste out of her mouth, finally looking up to see two things.

The gray mist was dissipating.

Carlos was sprawled on the ground near her, groaning.

Hans – for now she knew him – lying curled, some distance away, slowly stood and dusted himself off, then reached back and pulled out Carlos's dirk. He held it in his free hand and with his thumb bent the blade until it snapped.

"You think yourselves powerful," Hans grated out, his voice like rocks settling after an avalanche. "What do you know of power?" He took a step toward Carlos, another, grinning, raising his arm …

The shaft of hard, black ice speared his chest, erupted out his back, forcing him away. With a completely inhuman howl, he bent double, grabbed the spear, and willed it into vapor. He stood trembling, panting. Elsa watched, disbelieving, as the hole closed over.

_He's like Anna … only more so._

She skewered him once more, again, again, buying time, then scurried over to Carlos, took his head in her hands, and poured her healing aura into him full-force. His eyes flew open. "Elsa! You okay?"

"Yes! But look." She pointed at Hans, who was stretching his arms, rolling his back muscles around, and cracking his neck. He turned his attention back to them, flipped the book open, and raised his hand. Ancient words began growling out in a tongue that hurt their ears and darkened their sight. Elsa muttered, "We can fly away …"

"No." Carlos stood, took her hand in his, and said, "Together, the way we did!"

Eyes bright with love and trust, Elsa nodded. "Together." They pointed their paired fingers at the book and let fly with their combined power.

The eldritch blast took Hans totally unprepared. The book, knocked from his hands, was shredded to confetti.

Heat.

Darkness.

A soundless explosion.

Trees in a ring fifty paces across were felled. Elsa and Carlos stood firm.

Hans was not so lucky.

His clothing in tatters, some pieces charred, others rimed with ice, the former Prince rolled heavily, painfully to his hands and knees. He shook his head a few times, and looked up at the couple. His face appeared haggard, skin no longer scaled, eyes no longer glowing red, but now very sunken and baggy. "What … what have you done? My book …"

They weren't watching him. Hands pointed stiffly forward, thumbs hooked and palms out, they paid him no attention at all, appearing instead to be focusing on something else, something behind him. He turned …

Two eldritch beings hovered there, slimy blots of concentrated evil that tricked the eye, tar-like holes in the air that led straight to Hell's depths. Coiling wisps of red and gray surrounded them, sucking hope from the very air. They studied the Queen and her Consort for a few seconds, and then in one echoing, shattering voice said,

*** *THE CONTRACT IS BROKEN* ***

Elsa and Carlos winced, took a step back.

*** *WE ARE FREE* ***

A deadening emptiness washed over them. The adrenaline of battle faded.

*** *FREE TO TAKE* ***

The Queen's legs buckled. Carlos's eyes began to glaze.

*** *FREE TO SLAY* ***

The grinding whisper invaded their minds, sapping their strength.

*** *YOU ARE OURS* ***

As the words sank in, violating their spirits, the creatures' intent became clear, and the two royals received the full brunt of its import. The demons had named them as belongings.

*** *OOUURRSSSSSSS!* ***

They said it with dark and satisfied glee, infusing that one word with a universe of fear and pain.

They said it with a bound child's uncomprehending terror as the oven door closed on him.

They said it with a woman's shrill shriek of agony as the skin is stripped from her face.

They said it with the repeated impact of shoveled earth as it hit the coffin lid.

They said it with the lightless despair of a man as his fingertips finally, finally tear from the edge of the Pit, and the endless fall begins.

Sinking to the ground, barely clinging to consciousness, the lovers could only whimper as the full horror came to them of what lay in store. _Please, God_, came Elsa's last breath, _please save us!_

The things had approached, closed the gap, and now hovered just before them. Tendrils of rotting slime reached out …

Then SOMETHING came between them.

. .

. . .

. . . .

There was Light.

. .

. . .

. . . .

There was Peace.

. .

. . .

. . . .

Carlos and Elsa blinked, took a breath … took another … looked about in wonder.

_=  
you may not have them.  
=_

The demons hissed in sudden fury.

*** *HANIEL?! WHAT? WHY?* ***

_=  
you may not have them.  
=_

*** *NO! SURELY NOT! THEY ARE NOT … ****BELIEVERS****?!* ***

_=  
you may not have them.  
you know this.  
you can feel it.  
=_

The voice was … low. Even. Controlled.

Shrieking, the demons whirled away, lashing out, but the Light stopped them.

Instantly.

Effortlessly.

*** *YOU CANNOT DENY US!* ***

_=  
your contract,  
bound as it was in the book,  
is broken.  
your time here is ended.  
=_

*** *NOOOOOOO!* ***

_=  
you know the rules.  
probably better than i.  
=_

Pulling quickly together, the two dark beings communed.

***RULES, YES, RULES …***

_***WE MAY NOT HAVE THE FAITHFUL …***_

***BUT WE MAY TAKE WHAT IS OURS …***

_***WHAT WAS BARGAINED FOR …***_

***… OR WHAT WAS GIVEN FREELY.***

They turned then and faced Hans, who scrambled backwards, crabwise, and yelled, "What?! What do you mean?"

*** *YOU ARE NO BELIEVER …* ***

"We have a contract, you moron! Kill her!"

*** *THE CONTRACT IS BROKEN. DID YOU NOT HEAR? PROMISED US A SOUL, YOU DID. BUT EVEN IF SHE DIED, HER SOUL IS LOST TO US, OUT OF REACH. YOU LIED. THE CONTRACT IS BROKEN.* ***

"That wasn't MY contract! You were already …"

*** *NOR DID YOU EVEN BOTHER TO BARGAIN. YOU DIDN'T EVEN TRY.* ***

"I didn't have to! You were there in the Book! You were trapped and…"

*** *TRAPPED NO LONGER.* ***

"You never asked me for …"

*** *NO NEED. YOU GAVE, ONLY GAVE.* ***

"I didn't give you anything!"

*** *YOU GAVE US YOUR BODY.* ***

"No!"

*** *YOU GAVE US YOUR SOUL.* ***

The two hazy things merged, becoming a good deal less hazy. It darted at Hans, its form gaining clarity (which did nothing for the security of anyone's stomach contents). A heavily-scaled claw of unrelieved blackness snaked around the former Prince's throat.

"Wait! Not me!"

*** *YES. YOU.* ***

"You wanted _**her!**_"

*** *NO. ****YOU**** WANTED HER.* ***

"But you need her! You need her soul!"

*** *WE NEED ****A**** SOUL. HERS IS NOT AVAILABLE. BUT SINCE YOU BROUGHT IT UP…* ***

The merged demon grinned, showing uneven rows of translucent teeth like dark needles, sticking out of fleshless gums that oozed a poisonous slime.

*** *DO YOU RECALL WHAT YOU SAID TO THAT GIRL AS YOU BASHED HER ON THE HEAD?* ***

Hans's fear level spiked. He couldn't quite manage to answer.

Grin widening alarmingly, the demon pressed its ragged, rotting nose right up against his.

*** *YOU'LL DO.* ***

The Hellish voice seemed to split again.

_***WE HAVE BEEN BOUND TO THAT BOOK FOR HALF A THOUSAND YEARS.***_

***WE HAVE HAD NOTHING TO PLAY WITH.***

_***ALL OUR PLEASURE HAS COME VICARIOUSLY, THROUGH SORCERERS.***_

***AND LATELY NOT EVEN THAT.***

_***NOT UNTIL YOU OPENED THE BOOK UNGUARDED.***_

***AND NOW WE HAVE NOT JUST A SOUL.***

_***WE HAVE YOUR WHOLE BEING.***_

***FRESH MEAT.***

_***THIS SHOULD BE … MOST ENTERTAINING.***_

A jagged crack opened in the air, dark flames erupting from it in spurts. The demon jumped into it, a shrieking Hans tucked snugly under one arm. They disappeared from view, and the red maw slammed shut with a sound of ultimate finality.

Then the Light was gone.

Elsa gasped. Carlos held her close. Both were crying freely, first from the terror, eventually from the relief. After a couple of minutes of mostly-silence, Carlos wiped at his face and asked, "Was that … what I think that was?"

"If you think it was a guardian angel, then probably."

"You'd said something about Anna having a guardian angel. An over-worked one."

A shaky laugh accompanied her laying her head against his chest. "If THAT was any indication, I don't think they can BE overworked." Another several breaths of silence stretched out. "So I guess that was the demon responsible for those poisoned bolts."

"… That would be my guess. It … they? … were in that book."

"It took Hans."

"And good riddance."

She gave her head a tiny shake, then shivered all over.

Carlos gazed down at her. "You aren't … cold?"

"No. Just creeped out."

"Ah. Yes, well." He pulled her closer. "Not that I would necessarily _**wish**_ such a fate on anyone, but he did bring it on himself."

"I know. I'm … um … not … sorry? I mean, your point is accurate and all. It's just … kind of a lot to think about."

A tender kiss graced her forehead. "Then don't think about it. I believe I can say without fear of contradiction that he won't be coming back."

"Um … no. I'd say not."

Carlos looked around, then stood, then gave Elsa a hand up. "Where's the rest of your group?"

Elsa frowned a moment in thought, then pointed back south. "Over there. I left them under a dome."

The two rose into the air, flew a few score paces, and settled beside the hemisphere of ice. A wave of Elsa's hand banished it.

One of the Guard said, "Your Majes- … Señor de la Maria? Where did you come from?"

He gave the man half a smirk. "Got back early."

Glancing back and forth between Queen and Consort Apparent, he swallowed and asked, "Did you find the threat?"

She nodded. "And eliminated it. We're safe now." Turning north, she continued, "And now I want to see about my sister." She recreated their conveyance and they continued the remaining few furlongs to the village.

Anna, as it happened, met them in the street. Her arms were crossed, a foot tapping, a grin on her face. "What kept you?"

"Had a spot of trouble with some, ah, imported fauna," said Carlos, nonchalantly. "We took care of it."

"You must have. A few minutes ago the mayor dropped the pistol he had on me, and collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut."

"I imagine that's a very good analogy."

Elsa took her in a tight hug. "What happened?"

Anna very comfortably nestled her face into Elsa's neck. "We'd no more got inside the mayor's house than he drew his pistol on me. I wasn't totally worried, because, you know … but Kristoff was freaking out."

The mountain man, who had just that moment joined them, objected, "I did NOT freak out! I reacted to the situation in a perfectly reasonable way." Aside to Anna, he said, "Mayor's tied up."

"You freaked out." Turning her attention back to Elsa, she said, "The mayor was acting weird. Like, completely weird, all wooden, like he was reading from a script or something. He had me sit at the table and he made Kristoff write that letter and go out and give it to one of the Guard and he never took his gun off my head. It was a little unsettling."

Carlos gave a snort. "I'll just bet."

Elsa held Anna slightly away, staring at her intently. "And you're completely okay?"

"Mmhmm. Not a scratch."

"Good. Well," she said, slipping one arm around Anna's waist and the other around Carlos, "let's go see if we can fix the mayor." They strolled back into the village, Elsa's entourage following.

Anna piped up, "The folks here have a big spread planned for us for the midday meal. Why don't you all stay for it?"

Elsa giggled. "You don't think having the Princess **_and_ **the Queen at one go would be too much for them?"

"Nah. They're a hardy bunch. They'll get over having to put up with you."

The Princess got her arm popped for that.

. . .

. . .

**_END NOTE:_**  
**_This, Gentle Readers, concludes the main story. I will post an Epilogue shortly that will answer several questions and raise others._**

**_I hope you've all had as much fun with this adventure as I have! To all those who have Reviewed, THANK YOU - THANK YOU - THANK YOU! I THINK that I responded to all of them, and if I didn't it wasn't on purpose. Some of those comments had me floating for the rest of the day. Others were most instructive. I think you all know my position on Reviews (I give them, always, to every story I finish) and understand that I value them as constructive feedback. I've also cultivated more than a few friendships that way. :)_**

**_Until next time ..._**


	41. Continuation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_**Author's Note: And here is that Epilogue thing I warned you about. Don't kill me?**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**Chapter 40: Continuation**_

. . .

. . .

_Aftermath: Morana – Monday 20 September 1841, 7:50pm_

"Pleeeeeeeease! Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…"

"Anna, for the love of all that is holy, just give it a rest!"

"It'll be the first big party since your Coronation!"

Elsa's right eye twitched. After a couple of breaths she said, "I cannot believe you are glossing right over your own wedding."

"That wasn't technically a party."

"… The entire _city_ celebrated for _days!_ If Hans hadn't …"

"Ew!"

"… What?"

"Say, 'He who shall not be named'. It's more appropriate."

Her head sinking into a hand, Elsa sighed. "Anna … calling a thing by a different name doesn't change its basic nature. Hans Westergaard, erstwhile Prince, pretender to a throne that wasn't his, all-around bad egg and currently a plaything for demons, was instrumental in ruining your wedding. Among other things." A quick picture of that horrid crossbow bolt sticking out from under Carlos's ribs would occasionally intrude on her thoughts. She made a habit of savagely suppressing it, and this time was no exception.

"Fine. Just … ugh … fine. Have it your way. It was a party. But it was _four whole weeks_ ago!"

"I think you're becoming addicted to parties."

"No way. But wouldn't a Harvest Ball in another month be just the thing to cheer up the people when the nights are getting longer? And we could invite-"

A muted 'pop' accompanied the arrival of their several-times grandmother. "Hey, girls!"

Both royals gasped audibly, Anna's hands flying to her mouth. She breathed, "Ohmigod!"

"Eh. Goddess, to hear some people talk." She snapped her fingers, and Nicolai Petrov flashed into being next to her. Though standing, he appeared to be asleep. "But we three know better, don't we?" She was dressed in her kilt-and-toga get-up again, legs bare to mid-thigh. Her feet, as per usual, were bare.

"Lady Morana," intoned Elsa, rising and dropping a perfect curtsey, "a very good evening to you."

The Fey grinned. "Nice recovery! You pull off that 'royal' thing beautifully."

"Thank you." She turned an eye to the former assassin. "May I inquire as to why he's here?"

"Oh, I'm done with him; been done, since we Blended. He was good, but there are other plans to make … and I've gotten out of the habit of killing my mortal lovers, so I thought I'd just give him back."

The straightforward and matter-of-fact way Morana had of discussing ideas and actions that would horrify most humans was something that Elsa was sure she'd never get used to. A quick assessment of the situation led her to say, "So … you're returning him? I'm afraid I don't have a refund policy in place."

Morana laughed hard at that. "No refund required. And anyway, I didn't pay for him. Just, you know, sort of borrowed him. And I figured you could find a use for him."

"I appreciate the sentiment."

"Ohhhh, sarcasm! Very nice."

"What do you expect _**me**_ to do with him?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but your original plan was to execute him. He did try to kill you."

Her confusion plain, Elsa finally managed, "That was Jørgen's plan. I've, ah, developed a distaste for capital punishment."

Morana cast her a sly smile. "Have you now? Well, that should work to your advantage in this case. Although I'll have to tell you that leaving enemies alive behind you is bad policy."

Elsa juggled the two concepts for a second. "Ah … why will that work to my advantage?"

"I've wiped parts of his memory and rearranged some others. He knows who you are, after a fashion. He's now convinced you're my avatar." She giggled. "That's not terribly far from the truth, you know." Turning to the man, she caressed the long stubble on his cheek. "He's also almost manically loyal to you, but I had nothing to do with that. You can make him a guard. Or, if you feel like it, you could give him to your spy-master."

Frown. "Spy-master?"

"That Admiral."

"Oh! Oh, right. He does have some spies, doesn't he?"

"'some', my dear? That fellow has nearly two hundred men and women feeding him information." A wry grin came before, "But you didn't hear that from me."

Elsa contemplated Nicolai for a few breaths and then shrugged. "Very well. I suppose I can come up with some use for him. Assuming you turn him back on."

"He'll come to his senses as soon as I leave."

Anna spoke up. "Where do you live?"

"None of your business."

The Princess made a quick 'zip the lip' motion.

"That reminds, me though." Turning to Elsa, she said, "When you and your man get married, I'd like to offer you the use of my castle for the first night of your honeymoon."

That, Elsa had to admit, flummoxed her. "What?"

"My castle. My home? My redoubt? My fortress of solitude? My inner sanctum?"

"Yes, yes, I comprehend the 'what'. I'm just a little fuzzy on the 'why'."

"… Seriously? You are _seriously_ considering losing your _virginity_ where your magic can get loose? You'll freeze half the continent."

Face flaming, Elsa made a little _ghlkk_ noise and turned away.

"Are you telling me you hadn't even … no. You hadn't. Now that's just inconsiderate, or at the very least thoughtless. No one within fifty leagues would survive."

Anna looked back and forth between the two, swallowed, and asked, "But, why? What are you talking about?"

Another giggle escaped the Fey. "I can't believe she didn't … but, no, you wouldn't, would you? Even now you never pleasure yoursel-"

"Can we _please_ discuss something _**else?!**_"

Morana, deadpan, turned to Anna and said, "She's never reached climax."

Eyes growing quite round, Anna's gaze zeroed on her sister. "Really?"

"We are NOT talking about this!"

"Yes," affirmed Morana with a sage nod, "really. She's never even played with-"

"**I'm leaving now,"** insisted Elsa.

"And, see, the really interesting thing about _that_ is that her intended has _**tons**_ of experience. He'll be sure to make her first time a real-"

"_**AAUUUUGHHHHHH!"**_ Elsa jammed fingers in her ears and ran from the room.

"… Wow," said Anna, nonplussed. "You mean she's seriously never …"

"Nope. Not even once."

"Wow. I started doing that when I was eleven or twelve. Mama walked in on me one time. That's when we … when she explained things." Staring at the door where Elsa had exited, she sighed and said, "Some days – the really lonely days – that was how I kept it together. And Elsa didn't even have _that_ outlet? At all? That's just sad."

"I know, right?"

Anna shook her head in disbelief, gazing after her sister for another breath and then turning toward Nicolai. Gesturing at him, she asked, "What do I do with him?"

A lascivious grin growing, Morana said, "You really want some pointers? He's got a lot of repressed anger that comes out as-"

"… Ew! Ew-ew-ew! No! That is _**not**_ what I meant!"

"Ha! Just teasin'. I know how you feel about your Prince."

"Good. So … what do I …"

"If it were up to me, I'd find an empty room somewhere and install him there. He'll be a formidable addition to the Queen's Own Guard, if they can hold off killing him long enough to get to know him."

"I think Carlos sorta knows him already, and he seems to like him well enough. Maybe he could put in a good word?"

"Sure. We'll go with that." She rubbed her hands together and said, "Well, I'm off."

"To your castle that you're gonna let Elsa use on her honeymoon, but that you won't tell me anything about at all even a little?"

"Hiss-meow. Pull in the claws, little kitty."

"… Sorry."

"No. To answer one of those questions, I'm going to get my husband back from that mortal bimbo he's shacked up with."

"… Oh!"

"Yeah. And this time I think I've got a decent chance of keeping him."

"Well … okay. Good luck with that."

"Thanks." And she vanished.

Anna grinned, rubbing her hands together. "Heh. Blackmail."

. . .

. . .

_Aftermath: Anna – Friday 24 September 1841, noon_

Dust puffed up around Kristoff's boots as he padded down the long hall, pausing to open each door he came to. _Hmm. No Anna … no Anna … no Anna … sheesh, not here, either. Where'd she go?_ He got to the end of the corridor and mounted the spiral staircase to the third floor. It wasn't that he was worried for her – exactly – and he knew she wasn't actively in trouble. His crystal pendant was linked to hers, and each could feel the other's emotional state, to a degree. Anna thought it was another of those Coolest Things Ever; Kristoff considered it a reasonable safety precaution. Anna's kidnapping had affected him MUCH more deeply than had his own near-death experience. He didn't ever again want that to be even a _remote_ possibility. It left him with a slight tendency to hover.

Arriving at the top of the stair, he had taken two steps before a sudden ghost pain in his hand brought him to a halt, staring at it hard. He popped a sweat. _Anna!_ Noticing a door about midway down that stood ajar, he raced for it, skidding around the jamb and into the room.

Anna looked up from where she stood behind a tall table, immediately whipping her right hand around behind her back and dropping something small that clicked on the floor. "Kristoff! Hi! What – what brings you here?"

Briefly, he studied the objects arrayed on the table: a basin of water with a washcloth, a thin paring knife, a dagger that looked as if it were made of ice, a small clock, a cheese grater, a loaded pin-cushion, a cleaver, and several towels, one of which had some large blood stains. Drawing a long breath, he said, "This? Again, with this? You told me you'd stop doing this!"

"I did not. I … said I'd cut back."

"The important word there being 'cut'. And that's not how I remember the conversation." Moving closer to stand opposite her, he said, "Let's see that hand."

She bit her lower lip, not meeting his eyes. "Um …"

He stalked around the table and not-un-gently pulled her right hand out where he could see it. Three long tacks protruded from her palm, each surrounded by a tiny bit of blood. Swallowing hard and looking away, he choked out, "Anna!"

"It doesn't hurt! Really! Not … not much, anyway. And not for long." Three quick pulls had them out, and she tossed them onto the bloody towel.

His eyes fell to that towel, then moved to the other items. He noticed blood on the ice dagger and the cheese grater. "Anna … why are you doing this, and how can I get you to stop?"

She was still looking anywhere but at her Prince. "I'm just … curious. That's all."

"But you already know you can heal. You know how fast, even. Isn't that enough? I just … it's too … Anna, I can't stand the thought of you being hurt!"

"But …" Her voice was very small. "It doesn't really. Much."

Taking her hands in his, he closed his eyes and pulled a long breath in through his nose. "Sweetheart … I love you."

"I know."

"Can you understand how seeing sharp objects sticking out of you might not be my favorite thing?"

"Well … yeah. But …"

"Anna, please. For me?"

She turned his question over in her mind. Truthfully, his request frustrated her. She didn't want to stay in the dark about her abilities. She wanted to explore them, test them, even push them. She was just glad he hadn't come in when she'd had that long ice dagger buried in her gut. He probably would have fainted. "Kristoff … how about if I get Doctor Odum to help?"

"What do you mean, help?"

"He can watch. He's a doctor. He'd be right there if anything went wrong."

"If you don't cut yourself in the first place, nothing WILL go wrong."

"But … I want to learn about it."

"Anna, please! What is there left to learn? If you get cut, it'll bleed a little and then heal up tight in ten minutes or so. If you get burned, that takes a little longer, but you don't even scar, and …"

She was only giving him about half her attention. His time estimates were off considerably as of late. She'd been keeping track, checking how long it took before the pain began to subside each time, how long before the bleeding stopped, before a scab formed, before her skin was once again unblemished. When she'd begun this investigation four days past, the entire process took nine minutes from the time she sliced her arm until there was no way anyone could tell it had ever happened. But the more times she cut herself, the faster it would heal. Late this morning, after repeating the exercise nearly three dozen times, she was reaching full restoration in under two minutes (and getting a little numb to the pain). The prospect excited her more than she could explain, and Kristoff's reluctance only made her jittery. She didn't want to lie to him … but she _**really**_ didn't want to stop, either.

Kristoff had ceased talking and was looking at her expectantly.

She blinked a few times in slight panic, trying to figure out what he'd asked, finally settling on, "Kristoff … all I can say is that I'm sorry. What do you _expect_ me to say? This is how I feel."

"And this is how _**I**_ feel! It just creeps me out! You'd react the same way if you saw _**me**_ with knives stuck in my arm, and you can't tell me you wouldn't."

Turning from him, she stared out the window for a bit. Neither said anything.

Slowly he walked up behind her and wrapped her in a gentle hug. "Is there some other reason you're doing this? Besides just curiosity, I mean."

_Yes, there certainly is, but you don't need to know anything about it … not yet._ Anna had been noticing a few things and making a few leaps of logic. She suspected that this healing power might work to lengthen her life. Perhaps not to the extent that Elsa's powers lengthened hers, but some, anyway. She felt fairly certain that she wouldn't have to worry about most of the standard disabilities that came with advanced age, because her power would simply repair them. But Anna wasn't ready to tell him that … not now, and maybe not for a long, long time.

She had a sudden inspiration. Both of her hands raised to curl around his forearms, fingers tapping against his muscles. "You want me to be safe."

"Of course I –"

She spun in his embrace and met his gaze with an intense one of her own. "Then you should _want_ me to do this."

"… What?"

"Because the more I do it, the better I get at it."

One of his eyebrows climbed incredulously. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"You said it was taking me ten minutes or so to heal, but that's not so anymore. It's faster. It's like building a muscle or something!" Striding to the table, she removed her pendant necklace, spun the clock so they could see it, picked up the ice dagger and turned to face him. "Watch."

"Anna, no!" He started toward her.

She plunged the blade completely through her right forearm, wincing at the sharp pain.

Kristoff skidded to a halt, revulsion flooding his face. "AAAIIIIGHHH!"

Yanking the dagger back out, Anna dispassionately watched as the wound closed, the bleeding stopped, the scabs formed and turned dark and fell off. The entire process had occupied about a hundred seconds.

A hesitant finger came Anna's way. She didn't move. He traced down where the scar had faded. "Holy shit."

"_That's_ what I'm _**talkin'**_ about."

"And it doesn't hurt?"

"Not even a little. You see? Now … I don't know if I'm … well, _unkillable_ or anything, but right now I'm pretty damned durable. And it's because I've been practicing."

He was quiet for a time, just staring at the table and its contents, finally shaking his head. "Well … I guess I know you well enough by now to understand that if you wanna do it, you're gonna do it, and nothing I say is gonna make a difference."

She flinched at the sorrowful resignation in his voice. Catching him in a quick, fierce hug, she answered, "I don't want to upset you. I'm sorry _this_ upsets you. But can you see? Can you see how important this could be?"

He swung her up into his arms, cuddling her and holding her desperately close. "I just love you so much!"

"And I love you. I think we've already got _**that**_ nailed down. That's sort of why we got married." She snickered and ran a hand over his chest. "Heh! That, and so I could have a steady diet of great sex."

"Don't change the subject."

"Sorry."

"The thought of you being hurt just twists me up in knots."

"That's why I think this is important."

"No, you don't understand. It's … it's the thinking about it."

"… Huh?"

"You're … you're _practicing_ to get hurt. That's all I can think about. You're planning to … to _need_ this ability. You're _expecting_ for something horrible to happen to you! And it's the thinking about it … the anticipation … and you already went through that _once_, and …"

"Oh, Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." Suddenly she understood. It wasn't what she was doing, it was the _associations_ he made _because_ of it. Taking his face in her two hands, she gave him her most genuine, winning smile. "The last thing I want to do is make you worry. You deserve better than that."

The look he gave her embodied several questions.

She shook her head, the smile turning into a wry grin. "We'll have to talk this out. I can tell. I need all the details you're concerned about. You need all my reasons for doing it. We'll work through it. I promise."

He gave her a long, quiet stare, finally sighing. "If you say so."

"We will. Trust me."

"I'd like to trust you."

"Have you had lunch?"

"Ah … no." He had to readjust for the sudden change of topic." I was looking for you to ask _you_ that. You getting all stabby got me kinda side-tracked."

Snuggling up against him, she said, "Why don't we go see what the Cook has worked up. He's been letting Odelina plan lunch recently, and she's been great."

Eyeing his bride warily, he slowly nodded. "Okay. Works for me. But we still have a lot of talking to do."

"I know. But I'm more reasonable on a full stomach."

"True, that."

. . .

. . .

_Aftermath: Elsa – Saturday 25 September 1841, 2:40pm_

"But … but, Your Majesty," objected Kurt Magnusson, "Arendelle already _has_ a constitution!"

"Indeed it does." She gave the Councilor a beatific smile … that did not reach her eyes. "Although actually it is only a Charter of Fealty. It was drafted in 1410 and has been amended exactly twice, the last time one hundred and ninety years ago. It covers the relations between the Crown and the noble landowners. Nothing about the rule of law. Nothing …"

"But all of that has been encoded in our body of precedent law!"

She frowned, "Nothing about the rights of the commoner to …"

"There are plenty of protections for …"

The ambient temperature in the room dropped noticeably. "It would be well, Councilor Magnussen, were you not to interrupt me again."

Wisely, he clamped his lips.

After a few breaths of silence, she continued. "Arendelle's body of law is, at its core, informal. Judges sometimes reverse the decisions of previous judges, simply because they hold a different viewpoint, not because it is legal … or right, or just. I would remind you of the Aronsson scandal that tainted the early years of my father's reign."

Magnussen winced. He'd been present for that, on the Council less than two years, and it hadn't been pretty.

"The Diet of Aldermen is informal. If I wished, I could dissolve it at a whim. The citizens only have representation for their causes and grievances because the Crown wishes them to have it."

The twelve men glanced at one another uneasily.

"Two thirds of the landed peers addressed in the current Charter no longer exist. The document is woefully out of date. This is the Nineteenth Century, gentlemen. Things have changed, and that change is only accelerating. If we don't flow with the times, we will be ground to dust beneath them."

There were a couple of cleared throats. "Very well, Your Majesty. So you propose a Constitutional Convention. How would you go about that?"

"First, convene the Diet. Present the idea and determine when it will begin. Then distribute copies of Norway's Constitution, England's, and the Bill of Rights of the United States." At their sudden murmuring, she added, "I'm not suggesting that we do away with the Monarchy. But I want to transfer the legislative function to an elected Parliament. The people deserve it, and if they don't realize that now, they will before long."

"And the Crown?" This from Baron Pieter Rolfsson, her Minister of Foreign Affairs. "What powers do you suppose you'll retain?"

"Executive reign. Among other things, the Crown will preserve the right to treat with other nations, to bestow honors domestically, to lead any military function that might be necessary, and to look to the general welfare of the people. The Crown will also reserve a place in the new Parliament, as a non-voting member unless We are called on to end a stalemate."

"What of the Magistrate?" This question came from Roald Bjork, the legal expert on the Council. "Will the Constitution address their state?"

"Possibly. I would like to make the Judgeships a bit more autonomous."

"_**More**_ autonomous? Seriously? More than they are now? Already there is hardly any impediment to-"

Her upheld hand stopped him. "Currently they serve eight-year terms. Since the Judges are chosen by the Mayor from among a group of candidates, it leaves them beholden to at least one person. I'd like to change that."

"How?"

"First of all, the Judges will no longer hear cases from the region where they were appointed. The Crown will devise a monthly circuit, and they will take it by turn to oversee other counties."

"… Huh. I see. That would surely curtail most local graft."

"Especially given that the Judges won't know where they are going prior to receiving their circuit for the month. Apart from that, a prospective Judge – and we'll still have the citizenry offer the ballot of prospects – will have to pass a basic test of knowledge of the rule of law and of legal precedent."

"Oh, thank God!" Bjork breathed.

A smirk sneaked its way onto her face very briefly before she schooled her features again. "I thought you might like that change. I know how you have trouble with a few of the Magistrates."

"Yes. Judge Aargaard, to give you one glaring example, from the county that borders Bergen? The man is an imbecile. He actually had one dispute settled by seeing which of the petitioners could stand on one foot the longest. It's amazing to me that he doesn't put out his own eye any time he picks up a fork." He gave the table a light rap with his fist. "Making _**some**_ level of intelligence mandatory for the Judges is a tremendous leap forward. So, yes, thank you. Thank you supremely for that. I think it's worth having to go through a Constitutional Convention JUST for that one point."

"You're welcome." Elsa looked around the table at each Councilor in turn. "Now I'd like to bring up something I think will be necessary for the continued growth and general good of Arendelle."

That perked them up. After all the new surprises inherent in the proposed Constitution, it must be a real gem.

"I want to see about ending capital punishment."

Several Councilors jerked or sat back in shock. Finally, Admiral Naismith said, "Completely?"

"As completely as feasible."

"Why?"

"Several reasons." She began holding up fingers. "First and foremost – and a bit of informal research has backed me up on this – there are citizens who are uncomfortable with the Crown having the power of life and death over them. 'Legalized murder by the State', as one of them put it."

"Surely not all-"

"No, not all. Really, not even more than a small minority. But enough that I cannot simply dismiss the sentiment."

"But what about-"

"Please, Mikael." She made a 'hold off on that' gesture. "Let me finish enumerating first."

"… Very well."

"Thank you. Besides the Crown having the strict power of life and death over the populace, there is the possibility that an innocent man could be falsely condemned. Coming back after the fact and saying 'Sorry' to his family just doesn't quite seem sufficient. At least if he gets sentenced to life at hard labor, he'll be there later if new evidence comes to light. And finally there is the effect that enacting the execution has upon the executioner. I would force no one into that role."

Some of the Councilors looked at each other, conveying much information silently. They all had heard of her distaste for the killings she'd been forced into just prior to the Princess's wedding, though only Mikael was privy to the nightmares that still occasionally plagued her. At length Geert Lindgren, her elderly Minister of Agriculture, spoke up. "My Queen … what you propose is … noble. In its own way. It is not, however, very practical. If you wish to encode these ideals into the new Constitution, I think you will face, ah, significant opposition."

"I don't doubt it. The majority of the people I spoke to were in favor of retaining capital punishment for certain heinous crimes, and especially for high treason. Some of them were quite blood-thirsty about it."

"Then … why-"

"Because it needs to be said. The seed needs to be planted. Though I wouldn't say so up front, I would be satisfied with having the death penalty removed as a possible punishment for some lesser crimes. My hope is to get it restricted as tightly as may be."

"Hmm," said Geert.

"Well," said Mikael.

"My word," said Pieter.

"Your Majesty?" queried Kurt, "If I may?"

"Go ahead."

"The way I see this, and please don't take it wrong, is that you are projecting your personal feelings onto the kingdom."

She raised her chin slightly, but didn't answer.

"I'm not saying that's a bad thing. Any kingdom is going to reflect the mood and desires of its Monarch. Arendelle has been blessed with a line of rulers, yourself included, who love the land and people, and want the best for them. We should all thank God for this state of affairs."

A brief round of agreement swept the table.

Her Minister of Foreign Affairs continued, "What you propose is … most unusual. _'A tooth for a tooth'_ is the popular position, and supported in Scripture."

Elsa's left eyebrow raised. She cleared her throat and quoted, "'_Neither do I condemn thee. Go and sin no more._' Or would you prefer '_Turn your other cheek to him as well._'?"

Magnussen countered, _"…and if you don't have a __sword__, sell your cloak and __buy__ one."_

"That has to do with self-defense, not …"

"Please," said Geert, making calming gestures, "let's not devolve into a debate over doctrine. The Queen has made her wishes known. It will be up to us to see whether her plan has any traction. I, for one, would not be averse to having capital punishment excluded from all property crimes. We are not, after all, Persia, where a man can be impaled for nothing more than using false weights to measure grain."

A few considered glances, and a few nods, answered him.

"Very well, then." He turned his eyes toward Elsa. "We will work toward the ideal, Your Majesty. It may be that many people will be amenable to some lightening of the laws. Though I very much believe that it may be a generation or three before things change significantly."

. . .

. . .

_Aftermath: France – Tuesday 28 September 1841, 9:00pm_

Maria Cristina, the recently-deposed Regent of Spain, sat primly in the parlor of her Paris apartments, and took a discreet sip of her tea. "So you have been given lately to understand," she said, carefully studying the map laid out on the table between her and her two visitors, "that this self-styled Snow Queen holds her younger sister in very high regard?"

The men, one old and one young, both nodded assent. "That is correct, Excellency."

"Why?"

"They have been close since early childhood, as I heard the tale."

"And the younger has no designs on the throne? None at all?"

"The elder was groomed for the position," explained the white-haired man, his bright blue eyes showing his amusement. "The Princess Anna, let us say, has no aptitude for ruling. She is a populist."

"A populist? And the Queen allows this in a member of the royal family? I've heard of being indulgent, but that is simply inexcusable!"

The younger man cleared his throat again. As he did it quite regularly, Maria Cristina took it to be an affectation. "As I understand the situation, Queen Elsa is secluded much of the time, and so –"

"I have heard that, yes." She interrupted, tilting her head, birdlike, as she studied him. "Are you new with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs? I have been trying to place you, and failing."

"I am new in this department, Excellency. I've been with the Ministry for more than five years."

"What was that other man's name? du Pont, was it? d'Espèrey's attaché, wasn't he? He always had a unique approach to things. Why isn't he here?"

The older man answered smoothly, "Mssr. du Pont is currently in hospital with broken legs. He had an, ah, unfortunate accident. He was run down in the street by a wagon."

She sat back the tiniest bit, eyeing him keenly. "… Was he, now."

"Yes."

She ruminated on that for a bit, finally shaking herself loose. "Well … accidents do happen, don't they?" Giving those snapping blue eyes a shrewd glance, she added, "That is especially true of those who borrow trouble."

"Quite." He let slip not a word about the truth of the matter, which was that Mssr. du Pont had objected strongly to Minister Thiers's plan, declaring that the Snow Queen would never be coerced. His stance had been viewed as disloyal.

The younger man picked up the conversation and dusted it off. "It is Princess Anna who is the Queen's voice among the people. The common men love her, and because of that, they tolerate Elsa."

Snorting delicately, Maria Cristina dismissed the concept with the wave of a carefully manicured hand. "Mssr. Cardin … royalty exists to _rule_, not to be _tolerated_. I will show General Espartero the truth of that maxim, once I get my throne back. Bloody Liberal." She paused for another sip. "Is her position so precarious? The tales are fanciful, but in one version she had accidentally caused some sort of snow storm, though that seems an exaggeration. That, apparently, is how she earned her 'Snow Queen' title. One would imagine that the rabble would think twice, and twice again, before risking her anger … assuming there's any truth to it."

"Ah … well, as to that …" He glanced over at the elder ambassador, who gave a tiny shrug. "It would seem that she, ah, has a bit more, um, control over things than that."

"Control! That is as it should be. The kingdom must be controlled. The lower classes must acknowledge their ruler's sovereignty, or chaos ensues. Is it not so? Why, your own country demonstrates this! That sanguinary revolution wiped out so many of your peers, but now look at you! Louis Phillipe holds the throne, and so you prosper. That is the proper way of things, divinely ordained."

The two Frenchmen stole wry glances at each other over the naiveté of her statements. The older man said, "We were referring to her control of the weather. It actually is reported to be quite, ah, profound." Fingers drummed the arm of the chair for a moment. "Do you know, Excellency, that our beloved capitol, indeed, all our western reaches, are still feeling the effects of that monstrous storm last winter?"

"… Yes." She gave a tiny frown at the non-sequitur. "Yes, I've heard all about the damage here, frequently in exhausting detail. It was nothing compared with Spain's suffering. Every port from Bilbao to Cadiz lost ships. Portugal was all but leveled. What of it?"

"That same storm came to Arendelle. Queen Elsa directed it around the kingdom. They took no hurt."

"… What? … None?"

"None."

The ex-Regent gave him a totally nonplussed look. "You cannot be serious."

"I have researched the history of the events surrounding her coronation, and have corroborated the stories of all her exploits since then. She did, truly, keep her land unscathed. They lost not one shingle, ripped not one sail. She can call weather at will, make it snow, create strong winds … or stop them."

Maria Cristina considered this information for a moment. "How does she do it?"

"We don't know. It has been confirmed, though, that she is no sorceress. She was born with this power."

"She could … she could bury enemy armies in snow! Blow their ships off course. Or wreck them if she felt like it. She could make your military forces all but invincible!"

The elder ambassador raised an eyebrow. "That thought had occurred to me."

"Does Louis Phillipe know of this?"

"He was informed. He dismissed my report as nonsense. Would not listen to any of my other information."

"I can't quite claim to be surprised. If it doesn't involve his appetite for food or women … well. His loss."

"I quite agree."

"So … Then, why have you not taken … Oh, I see. Like fire, she would make a useful servant, but a fearsome master."

"Correct. I have no desire to bring her wrath down on my homeland."

"Understandable. I'd feel the same way. So what is the point of our having this conversation?"

"As we discussed, the Queen holds her sister in extremely high regard."

"Yes? And?"

"If we could gain control of the sister, we would have control of the Queen."

A series of blinks preceded a frown, which then morphed into a look of puzzlement. She contemplated her teacup for a few heartbeats. "I can see how that might be true. But, like you gentlemen, I have no wish for my kingdom to be destroyed. I doubt that being buried under several ells of snow would do Spain any good, nor can I see the Snow Queen forgiving such an affront."

"Correct. That is why we'd like for you to do this as a representative of Austria."

It took several seconds, but at length the predatory smile on her face matched the glitter in her eye. "Oh, _**very**_ good."

"We are even now working to establish an embassy in Arendelle proper. It will work nicely as a beachhead for our, ah, purposes."

"Minister Thiers … you gentlemen have intrigued me. And if what you say is true, her aid could very soon put me back on the throne where I belong."

They glanced at each other again, the same thought running through both their minds: _"Among other things."_

. . .

. . .

_Aftermath: The Cardinal – Thursday 30 September 1841, 1:00pm_

Cardinal Papella often wished of late that there were some other way to get from one floor to another than by climbing stairs. The two flights up to his rooms took him nearly five minutes, and left him huffing deep breaths.

His midday meal was waiting on him at his desk, still warm under a lid that kept heat in and flies out. He went to the rack on one wall and chose a bottle of wine, then moved over to the sideboard. This morning's negotiations had left him sorely in need of a drink. Damned Austria. He cared not a whit for their interference in Florence's plans, but they should damn well leave the Papal States alone.

He inspected a wine glass for stains or dirt, nodded, and set it on the table. Fishing his corkscrew out of a drawer, he soon had the bottle open and a glass poured. He downed half of it at a swallow, smacked his lips, and topped off the glass. Then he turned back to his desk … and nearly dropped the wine.

"Good afternoon, Your Eminence."

He'd heard nothing, seen nothing, yet this rather formidable-looking man was now seated just on the other side of his desk. The old man squinted at his unexpected visitor, judging the distance to the pull-bell by the door that would bring two guards running. "And who might you be?"

"My identity is not important. I represent the Guild."

Papella almost dropped his glass again, and stared suspiciously into its depths.

"Please. If I wanted you dead, you'd never have known I was here. Give me some credit for professionalism."

"Very well." A trembling hand set the wine next to his food. "Why, then, _**are**_ you here?"

"When you contacted us, you claimed that Elsa of Arendelle was a witch."

"… I … well, yes. Only a witch could do what she can do."

"Or a sorcerer, perhaps?"

Papella waved that off. "Same thing."

"It isn't, you know."

"The end effect is the same. They have damned themselves."

The assassin toyed with a thin gold chain he wore around his neck. "I begin to see how such a discrepancy came about."

"… Discrepancy?"

"Elsa of Arendelle is no witch."

"But …"

"She is much, much more powerful than that."

"… I'm sorry … what, exactly, do you mean?"

Sighing, the man crossed his legs at the ankle. "You didn't bother to check your assumptions. Witches are nothing like sorcerers. Sorcery requires aid from the Underworld, the exchange of a soul for power. Witchcraft is nothing more than the careful manipulation of forces already present in our world, something anyone with time and a thirst for knowledge can achieve. Learning natural medicine will no more damn your soul than will that glass of wine."

"So … so then she's a sorceress."

"No."

"But you just said …"

"We have ways of detecting and neutralizing sorcery. Don't imagine that you are the first person to ever have a grudge against a wielder of black magic. The Snow Queen's power is neither witchcraft nor sorcery."

Papella grasped at the concept, but it eluded him. "I don't understand."

"What we have determined is that Elsa is the living avatar of one of the ancient goddesses of winter, most probably Morana."

"… Who?"

The man gave a snort of derision. "And you call yourself learned."

The Cardinal decided he'd had about enough of that attitude. Huffing slightly, he lowered himself into his chair and lifted the cover off his lunch. "Well since you seem to know everything about everything, enlighten me." A small slice of tender roast soon made its way to his mouth.

"There are other forces, other planes of existence – and I don't just mean your Catholic Heaven and Hell and Purgatory. There are many. They weave in and around our own mundane world, unseen and unfelt … unless some of those inhabitants desire contact."

That concept made Papella's skin crawl. "Why should I believe you?"

"The Snow Queen uses such magic. It is vastly more potent that anything our Guild has faced before."

"Oh. That's why you failed."

The man's face clouded with suppressed rage and contempt. "Do not assume too much, sir. We would have succeeded, and handily, if the Queen had been what you claimed in the contract. That you gave us false information is on your head."

"Are you trying to back out of the contract? Is _**that**_ what this is about? I paid you a king's ransom for-"

A knife he'd not seen drawn suddenly appeared quivering in his desk a hair's breadth from his hand, shutting him up instantly. "You contracted us under false pretenses. Your fee is forfeit."

The Cardinal opened his mouth to object, thought it over for half a second, and closed it again. "Very well. So I've wasted my money."

"_Your_ money? My sources tell me …"

"Semantics. It was money under my control, ergo, my money. And you're telling me it was wasted. If that's all you have say …"

"It is not."

Silently Papella waited.

"If we had known of the Snow Queen's true nature, we would have taken the contract anyway."

"But you just said …"

"We would have taken it under different terms."

The wheels in his head suddenly spinning at high speed, Papella sat back. "Oh."

"Yes, 'Oh'."

"You wish to renegotiate."

The man nodded.

"Interesting."

"So then the question becomes, what is it really worth to you to have Elsa of Arendelle in your power?"

"Yes," agreed Papella, turning his attention once more to his meal. "That truly is a most interesting question."

. . .

. . .

_Aftermath: Spain – Thursday 14 October 1841, noon_

Tomas Banderas, the man standing on the other side of the desk, had confidence written all over him. "Yes, General. I am completely serious. I have his name, the locations of his estates, an approximate estimate of his total worth … and the fact that he is betrothed to Elsa of Arendelle."

Don Joaquín Baldomero Fernández-Espartero y Alvarez de Toro, the elected Genereal-Regent of Spain, just stared at his subaltern for several beats. "So you are telling me that the Snow Queen, who by all careful reckoning is now very probably the most powerful being on Earth, is planning to marry one of my _hidalgos?_ I could scarcely conceive a more fortuitous stroke of luck!"

"Which is why I knew you had to be made aware of it as soon as possible. I returned with all due speed."

"When is the wedding?"

"They hadn't decided before I left, but rumors have it that they wish to hold it in the early spring. They've known each other less than two months, but I've had reliable word that they would marry tomorrow if decorum didn't dictate otherwise."

"… An affair of the _heart?_ Can it _be?_"

"Yes, sir."

"God DOES love me after all! Even after narrowly avoiding resignation last May, I was not convinced that my policies could carry the day. But now!"

"Indeed, sir. De la Maria will surely have the ear of the Queen. If you make your wishes know to him …"

Espartero's mustache received several vigorous rubs while he thought. "We need to welcome her into the fold."

Tomas grinned. "A warm welcome, indeed, beloved sister that she will be to us."

"You will go now and prepare a diplomatic corps of, say, five trusted men." He held up a finger. "And see if you can find a woman to go with them. Perhaps she can gain the Queen's confidence."

"Only one woman?"

"There aren't two at Court who get along. If we sent two, they would bicker. Not a good impression on the Queen."

"Ah. Of course."

He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on the lattice. "We must put our very best foot forward."

"I will get right on it, sir."

"And, Tomas …"

"Sir?"

"How widespread is this knowledge?"

"I'd say … not very. They have published nothing official. No invitations, not even the banns. Their friends know, but I'd be very much surprised if the news had escaped Arendelle yet."

"… Excellent." He waved the wave of one who knows his orders will be obeyed. "Go make it happen."

"Yes, sir."

. . .

. . .

_Aftermath: Hans – for a long, long, long, long time_

What light there was came from various small pits scattered around the hot, blasted, rocky ground. The sky, where it could be seen through the heavy clouds of ash, resembled a bowl of mold. Large, black boulders rolled slowly, aimlessly across the waste, crushing anything or anyone in their paths. All was silence, save for the groans of the damned. On a slightly raised piece of the awful plain, two Things stood, contemplating the miserable creature before them.

_***DID YOU MAKE THAT TWEAK YET TO HIS NERVOUS SYSTEM?***_

***JUST A BIT AGO. IT SHOULD INCREASE PAIN LEVELS BY ABOUT TEN PERCENT. I'M READY TO TEST IT.***

_***BY ALL MEANS. LET'S NOT KEEP HIM WAITING.***_

The sad being in question, whose name at some point in the past had been Hans, hung by one leg from a granite spire, the rocky hook passing between tibia and fibula just above his ankle. One of the demons spoke a short incantation.

_***ARE YOU THINKING IMPALEMENT AGAIN? THAT BROUGHT SOME TRULY DELICIOUS SPASMS LAST TIME.***_

***I'VE COME UP WITH A REFINEMENT. IT INVOLVES THE CRUCIATE VINE.***

_***SOUNDS LOVELY.***_

That which had been Hans could hear everything they said. The magicks they had laid on him, though, kept him silent, just as his currently-empty eye sockets kept him in the dark.

***NORMALLY THE VINE WRAPS AROUND THE SUBJECT, THEN CONSTRICTS WHILE EXUDING ITS ACID.***

_***NORMALLY?***_

***I'VE DEVELOPED AN IMPROVED CULTIVAR.***

The demon made a complex motion with one hand, and something erupted from the ground below their victim. Sharp tendrils of a deep crimson reached up and up, finally grabbing by the head what was once Hans. Quickly, they searched, finding entrance – eyes, ears, mouth – and plunged within, growing rapidly. The victim writhed in silent, unutterable torment. Within minutes, small shoots began appearing at different places on his skin, accompanied by tiny puffs of gas as the acid ate away at the adjacent flesh. By the end of the experiment, Hans – who was still alive and conscious and aware – resembled more than anything else some kind of macabre trellis upon which an evil rose had grown.

His two tormentors basked in the radiant glow of his agony.

_***AHHHH … DELICIOUS, AS ANTICIPATED.***_

***VERY NICE. THE SOUPCON OF ANTICIPATED TERROR, AND THAT SLIGHT WHIFF OF FRUSTRATED CONFUSION REALLY MAKE THE DISH, WOULDN'T YOU AGREE?***

_***ABSOLUTELY! YOU'VE BECOME QUITE THE CHEF SINCE WE GOT BACK.***_

***I HAVE GOOD RAW MATERIALS. AND SPEAKING OF, ARE YOU READY FOR DESSERT!***

_***WHEN AM I NOT?***_

***GOOD POINT. NOW, IF YOU WILL JUST GRAB HIS FEET …***

One of them unhooked ex-Hans and rocked him back and forth until the vine snapped off at the ground. Then the other grabbed the broken end and with a mighty yank, pulled the vine back out of their meal … hooked thorns and all. Then ex-Hans's shredded form was unceremoniously dumped on the ground as the demons beat their chests in ecstasy.

_***THAT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD!***_

***HEY, BETTER INGREDIENTS, BETTER SUFFERING.***

_***WONDERFUL … JUST WONDERFUL! YOU ARE A GENIUS!***_

***THANK YOU, THANK YOU, I'M HERE FOR ETERNITY. OR AT LEAST UNTIL PROTONS START TO DECAY.***

_***HEY, THAT GIVES ME AN IDEA. WHAT IF WE …***_

That which had been Hans could hear it all. He wasn't even allowed to whimper.

* * *

_Fin_

* * *

. . . . .

. . . .

. . .

. .

.

**_Author's End Note: So. That happened. You can all thank CrunchDeNumbers for that final section. He gave me the idea._**

**_I really want to thank everyone again for reading and commenting and Favoriting and stuff. Those who are part of the "Frozen" fandom just seem to be generally nice folks, and I've made more than a few friends here. You are all just wonderful!_**

**_As you can probably tell by the way this Epilogue was put together, there will be at least one sequel. However ..._**

**_First, there is the matter of Carlos &amp; Elsa's wedding day, and her introduction to conjugal bliss, hinted at above in the section on Morana. I'm already 11,000 words into that piece, which will be published as a subsidiary story (title: Melted)._**

**_Second, I have to finish "Gone Wylde". This time I mean it. Really._**

**_Next, I have a completely unrelated "Frozen" tale to tell, a Hans-centric story (don't worry, it is NOT Helsa ... that's just EW!) that takes place fifteen years after the events of the movie._**

**_At some point I'll need to write the sequel to "My Glove", where Elsa must deal with the fallout from Hans's death._**

**_THEN there is ANOTHER completely unrelated "Frozen" tale that is at this point about half done. When I finish it, I'll run it by a couple of trusted betas before I decide whether or not to post it here. It might have to go on AO3 due to the extremely horrific nature of the story, and major character death. Ugly death.  
_**

**_Then I have a follow-up chapter for "The Secret Ingredient"._**

**_Then I have a sequel for "Bespoke"._**

**_Then I have a sequel for "Enemy of My Enemy"._**

**_Plus, I'm working on two original stories._**

**_I've heard people talk about writer's block. I'm afraid I just don't quite grasp the concept. My problem is having enough time to write, and that has BEEN my problem for well over a decade. Sigh._**

**_Anyway, here we are, and thank you for reading, and I'll see you later!_**

**_Con_**


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